Love, Interrupted
by ScintillatingTart
Summary: Charles Carson is a widower with a daughter; Elsie Hughes is a maid with a past. Will they be able to overlook their failings and love one another? (Rated M for... monkey business.)
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Downton Abbey and I never will own anything pertaining to the show. I'm also not brave enough to tattoo Mrs. Hughes's chatelaine on myself or do anything but write naughty fanfic and post insane fanvids to tumblr, so I really don't think anyone needs to worry about a profit being lifted here.

Following on the heels of Neverwas, this is my second DA fic. I hope that it will be as well-received as Neverwas has been; I am still unsure of whether or not Neverwas was any good at all, so I'll leave that judgement up to you, dear reader.

This story is rated M for 'mature shenanigans' and 'much frivolity'.

Love, Interrupted  
by ScintillatingTart  
June 2015 –

* * *

One:  
First Thing's First

 _August, 1889_

He tucked the crocheted afghan around his daughter's shoulders and pressed a kiss to her cheek as she slept. She mumbled something in her sleep, but he murmured that she should stay still and go back to sleep. The last thing that Charles Carson wanted to do was disturb Fiona's rest. He barely saw her as it was, leaving most of her daily care square on his mother's shoulders as she puttered about, ordering the maid staff to do their duty and ensuring that the footmen didn't get fresh with the maids.

Of course, taking care of her granddaughter was a pleasure to her; though Grace Carson Burke would bluster about and say that it was an inconvenience, it was all a façade. Ever since Charles had quit the stage when Alice had died, his home had been here at Downton Abbey with his mother and his very small daughter. Lady Violet had been kind and allowed him to act as valet to Lord Robert, a job he did quite well, if he did say so himself.

And he was near enough to watch Fiona growing up. She was nearly four now, with Alice's wide hazel eyes and easy smile. Unfortunately, she had inherited Charles's nose and height; she would probably outgrow her adorable stage quickly and become quite the ugly duckling by the time she was a young woman.

But he loved her; Lord above, how he adored his darling Fiona.

"Thank you, mother," Charles said softly. "Did she eat well tonight?"

"She's still putting up a fuss about the cabbage," Grace said with a dismissive roll of the eyes. "I don't know why I bother – you were the same way at her age. You refused to eat your turnips."

"Nasty things," Charles muttered under his breath. Truth be told, he would refuse turnips now – if he didn't fear going hungry. "I know I do not share my appreciation often enough for what you do, mother –"

"Don't be ridiculous," Grace huffed, smiling softly. "It's my pleasure, dear heart – you know that. And Lady Violet is quite pleased to have you back at Downton. She believes it to be an even trade. Besides, when she's old enough, Fiona can begin work as a scullery maid."

That gave Charles pause. He'd never thought for a moment about putting his child to work; surely, she should be allowed to just… be? To just be a child, and take pleasure in life's smallest moments… shouldn't she? He had no idea about child-rearing, only that he'd resented being a hallboy at such a young age and was fairly certain that any child of his would likely be the same way. The last thing he wanted was to contemplate Fiona running away already.

"Of course," he said, tone non-committal. "It's getting late, mother. Shouldn't you be off to bed now?"

"Don't scold me," Grace muttered, drawing her son down for a kiss on the cheek. "Sleep well, Charlie – dream of better days and of happy days ahead."

He didn't dare tell her that he would never be happy again without Alice.

* * *

 _January, 1891_

The weather was abominable. It had been raining – cold, dismal rain – for several days, but now the wind had taken a sharp turn from the northwest, bringing frigid temperatures off the sea. They were awaiting the arrival of the new head housemaid, but if her train didn't arrive soon, she would likely not arrive at all. The ice on the rails could be quite treacherous after a point.

"Daddy," Fiona cried, bouncing up to Charles as he carefully mended one of Lord Robert's socks, "daddy! Mrs. Oren says it might snow tonight – wouldn't that be nice?"

Charles looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. "Snow brings its share of problems, love," he said in not an unkind way. "It will make it difficult to reach the woodshed to bring in the wood for the fires. It will make it hard for the grocer to bring food deliveries so we may eat."

"But snow is so pretty," Fiona said, her tone caught between understanding and still longing for what she wanted.

"Is she bothering you, Charles?" came the slightly shrill but kind voice of the scullery maid, Beryl Patmore. "Come on, Fiona – your dad's got lots of work to be getting on with. You want to come with me and help bake some biscuits for tea?"

"Oh, yes, please Miss Beryl!" Fiona cried, giving her father a kiss on the cheek, then dashing after Beryl, all long limbs and black pigtails.

Charles watched her go, feeling his heart break all over again. He missed Alice so very much; he missed his mother more. Since her untimely passing a few months before, he had found himself very much alone and trying to raise a young woman that Grace would have been proud of. Instead, he found himself steering her toward Beryl – who his daughter loved fiercely like a sister – and letting her do small tasks in the scullery like his mother had wanted.

If Fiona had been a boy, he would have found an appropriate school to take him on, and he would have been glad of the quiet. But she was a delicate, beautiful girl with a trusting nature and her mother's smile. He could still send her away to school, but it would cost him every penny he would ever make. He only wanted what was best for her, but his inability to make such a plan into a reality would kill him heart and soul.

He finished with the sock and moved on to a shirt cuff.

Things were different at Downton now that Lord Robert had come into the title and taken a wife. He was a bit sterner on the subject of Fiona than Lady Violet and Lord George had been, insisting that she be kept belowstairs and given every chance to be brought up in a life of service. Charles found that he almost wished to send Fiona away to the Dower House just for a bit of peace on the matter.

He was tired of being condemned for being a widower with child. He was sick of being pitied and held to account for not being able to afford better care for his daughter. He wanted nothing more than for Alice not to have taken ill and died with their daughter still suckling her cold breast.

He was still repairing the shirt cuff when he heard a frantic pounding on the door that led outside. Looking around, there was no one but him – and the kitchen maids, who would never be able to open the heavy door on their own. _Well, hell_. Carefully setting aside his mending, Charles rose to his feet and headed toward the door.

Once it was opened, a very small, slight figure pushed inside past him. The woman was tiny – though not quite as small as Beryl was – and bundled up in a heavy woolen coat and several knitted shawls. She looked to be soaked to the bone, despite her cold-weather gear, and her teeth were chattering. "Elsie Hughes," she introduced weakly. "I'm afraid I'm too frozen to offer you my hand."

It took him a moment to register that the door was still open; he slammed it shut, then helped her to the kitchen where she could warm herself by the roasting fire. "Mrs. Oren, will you see that Miss Hughes gets a hot cuppa?" Charles asked the cook politely. "I've got to finish my mending –"

"Daddy, will you be downstairs for tea?" Fiona asked anxiously. "We're making shortbread biscuits –"

"Shortbread is my favorite," the small, cold woman spoke up.

Charles shook his finger warningly at his offspring. "Don't you dare start with Miss Hughes," he said sternly. "You keep to Beryl and the other kitchen maids, Fiona Carson."

Fiona swallowed with a little gulping noise. "Yes, daddy," she said very quietly. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to make you cross…"

"Never you mind," Charles sighed, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead. "I've got to finish my work, love. Behave and help Mrs. Oren and Beryl, please."

"Yes, daddy," Fiona said, nodding. He took his leave of the room, knowing that if his daughter became friends with one of the upstairs maids, god help them all – at least she would learn useful skills as a kitchen maid.

* * *

It took nearly an hour for Elsie to feel her fingers again. The walk itself from the train depot had not been awful – not until the heavens had opened up and showered her with icy pellets mixed with rain. Despite her careful preparations, the last thirty minutes of her walk had been absolutely miserable and she had barely been able to close her gloved hand into a fist to pound upon the door.

Being as cold and exhausted as she had been, she had not really paid attention to her rescuer, the man who had opened the door and allowed her to come inside and warm herself. She had been so eager to toast by the fire that the only thing she knew about the man was that he had a daughter, and that that daughter was baking shortbread biscuits with one of the kitchen maids.

She watched the raven-haired little girl with the ginger maid as they set about their task. Elsie warmed her hands with a mug of hot coffee that Mrs. Oren had provided her – not tea as had been requested. A steaming bowl of soup and a chunk of fresh bread soon joined the mug on the small table by the fire.

"So you're the new head housemaid," Mrs. Oren said, a steely look in her eyes. "You don't look like much, and you sound like less."

"I wasn't aware that being Scottish was a crime," Elsie protested softly. "And I cannot be what I am not, Mrs. Oren."

"Are you from Scotland?" the young lass asked with a smile. "My mummy was from there – her name was Alice."

"Aye, I am," Elsie said with a small smile in return. "My name is Elsie – what's yours, lass?"

"Fiona," the girl replied with a giggle. "Do you want to help Beryl and me make biscuits, Elsie?"

"No, she does not, Fiona," came a sharp barking voice from the doorway. "Miss Hughes, I will show you to your room right away. I am Mrs. Potter, the housekeeper –"

Beryl muttered, "A piss-poor one."

Mrs. Potter rounded on the ginger woman and nearly shouted, "Dare I remind you that I am in charge of whether or not you are promoted to assistant cook, you ungrateful whelp?"

"She didn't mean it, Mrs. Potter," Fiona jumped in, standing between the two women. "Did you, Beryl?"

Elsie watched the belligerence leave Beryl's face in an instant when she realized that the little girl was really the one who was in the most danger right then. "I didn't – you know me, Mrs. Potter, always running my mouth at both ends," Beryl said with a frown on her lips. "Come on, pet – let's finish those biscuits, and then go read a story."

Elsie finished her bread and coffee, then rose to her feet and grabbed her valise. "Mrs. Potter, I would be grateful to see my room and unpack," she said quietly, hoping to deflect any other poor attention from the others in the room. "Mainly so I can get into dry clothes."

"Your uniform will be waiting upstairs, and you will dress and participate in the afternoon cleaning of the west wing," Mrs. Potter said in a haughty, angry tone. "You've already wasted a good amount of time sitting here."

"But Sophie, she was nearly frozen through," Mrs. Oren protested. "If Charles hadn't helped her inside, she might have frozen on the lawn –"

"And as long as she's in His Lordship's employ, Miss Hughes will work," Mrs. Potter growled.

Elsie found that she really didn't care for Mrs. Potter at all. Not one bit. She was almost a deal-breaker. But she had come all this way and she might as well give it her best attempt.

She raised her chin and met Mrs. Potter's disapproving glare with a small smile.

Two could play this game.

END PART ONE


	2. Chapter 2

Two:  
A Fleeting Smile

By the time the servants settled in for the evening meal, Elsie was exhausted – far more so than she would have been normally. Despite having almost frozen from exposure, she had been expected to do just as much work, if not more, than the other maids had been. She knew it had to do mainly with her position (head housemaid didn't exactly imply resting on one's laurels), but god, how she'd longed to curl up in a bed and get warm, rather than shivering in the far reaches of the west wing, where none of the beds were made up and all of the treasures of the house were dusty and grimy from neglect. Mrs. Potter allowed none of the maids to rest until things were spotless, so Elsie dove in head-first with a bottle of vinegar to cut the grime and a bucket of sliced lemons to polish a worn bedstead with. She had cleaned the worst room in under an hour, and the housekeeper barely acknowledged it – just directed her to another room to work on.

Her hands were roughened now, where the acid from the vinegar and the lemons had already eaten away the softness of her skin, and her fingers were bent and swollen from the sheer amount of work she had put in. Not to mention that she was still chilled to the bone, as Mrs. Potter had denied the maids the 'luxury' of a fire in the grate. Elsie felt god-awful, but every time Mrs. Potter glanced at her with that derisive glare of hers, she felt an answering fire in her belly that made her defiant. The old bat wouldn't get the better of Elsie Hughes – no, she would not.

A bowl of stew and a hunk of bread were set down in front of her, as well as an empty cup for tea. Elsie found herself waiting patiently for the butler – Mr. Jenkyns – to say the prayer, then she tore into her food with as much grace as she could be bothered to muster.

Halfway through the meal, the empty chair next to hers was filled by a very tall, sturdy man. "Charles, you are late," Mr. Jenkyns scolded.

"I had to assist Nanny Foster on His Lordship's orders," Charles rumbled in a voice that did not seem unkind. It pierced Elsie's shell, and she glanced over at him, seeing the man who had been her savior earlier in the day really for the first time. "Lady Mary has the colic, you see, and she settles a bit for me; Fiona had the colic when she was quite small."

"It's an honorable thing, what Charles does," Lady Cora's maid – Rose – defended loudly. "Otherwise, we'd hear no end of all the screaming from the nursery."

"Enough of your cheek," Mrs. Potter scolded. She turned to look at Elsie and said, "Miss Hughes, you might care to try breathing between bites. We eat in a civilized manner in Yorkshire."

Mr. Jenkyns frowned. "Sophie, let the woman be," he muttered. "She came to us in the freezing rain and you've worked her like a dog today. It will be a wonder if Miss Hughes does not take ill."

Elsie knew better than to speak out of turn, so she merely slowed her bites, carefully chewing each one before moving on to the next. She knew that the English considered her people, still, to be wild heathens from the North, despite the fact that they had been domesticated long hence to the English yolk. It's not that it didn't chafe; just… they were used to the harness now.

She felt, rather than saw, her neighbor's curiosity as he looked her over. Elsie didn't know what he expected to find – she was entirely too short, too rounded, and she had grey hairs beginning to come in. But there was no reason to expect him to care about a farmer's widow from Argyll.

She'd left behind her home, her late husband's family, and a string of small graves marking the babes that never drew breath. She could not bear to be the focus of their disappointment anymore; nay, best that she make a new life for herself without distraction. So she had applied to Downton. Once upon a very long time ago, when she had been a girl, she had been a housemaid in one of the Duke of Argyll's grand houses, and she had learned everything she would need to know. But then, she had been swept off her feet by the sweet farmer who brought the lambs and fresh mutton for the table and the wool for the Duke's tartans. They had had such a life together; backbreaking work, hard work, but they loved one another quite so, and it never seemed like such great hardship.

Nine babes; six were stillborn, five of them delivered too early to be safe. Three had survived into infancy, only to be carried off by disease. The last had been her undoing, really – dear tiny Sarah, who had been nearly a year old when she had died from a raging fever and seizures. Joe had been heartbroken and refused to touch Elsie again, for fear it would continue happening, that they were being punished for some slight against God himself. And just a few weeks later, she had gone to the barn to help deliver a lamb and had found him swinging from the rafters.

Was it any wonder she had sold the farm and left everything behind?

Suddenly choked by her food, Elsie pushed her bowl roughly away, hearing it clink against her water glass. The other diners looked up with alarm. She didn't care.

"Miss Hughes, perhaps it would be best if you retired for the evening," Mrs. Potter said in an icy tone. "It will give you time to rethink upon your attitude and whether or not you would like to continue your employment here at Downton."

"Thank you, Mrs. Potter," Elsie said quietly, knowing that the war was not lost yet – even if she was conceding a battle due to fatigue and emotional inadequacy. "I will do that." And then she retreated from the table, taking the stairs two at a time until she had reached the women's corridor. She crept into the room she would be sharing with – well, she didn't know yet – and hurried to get herself ready for bed.

She was almost tucked up for the night when the door opened and the very slight figure of the little girl from downstairs came in. "I'm sorry, Miss Hughes," Fiona said very politely, "for disturbing you while you're going to sleep. I'll be very quiet and get ready for bed. I have to get up early to wake everyone up, you know. Mrs. Potter says it's my job now."

Elsie blinked; surely, they didn't mean she was to share a room with a six year old! Why wasn't the girl still in rooms with her father? Was she meant to be a nursery attendant, too, on top of all of her other duties? "Fiona – don't think I don't want you here, but what on earth are you doing in here?"

The little girl looked at her and said, "This is my room, too. Mrs. Potter says it's not 'popriate for me to live in the men's quarters with daddy no more."

"Any more," Elsie corrected gently.

"I wanted to be in Beryl's room, but she already shares," Fiona said with a pout, "so they put me in here with Miss Grey. But then Miss Grey went away and now you've come."

Elsie hesitated for a long moment, then said, "Well, put your nightclothes on, dear, and then I'll tell you a story before bed."

Fiona bounced around the room, changing into her nightdress and telling Elsie all about her day; Elsie didn't have the heart to tell her to be quiet. She just watched the small girl being herself and felt a deep, sad longing for everything she had lost and would never have again.

"Daddy will be here soon to tuck me in," Fiona announced cheerfully. "He always does, Miss Hughes."

Elsie surprised herself by saying, "If we are to be roommates, love, you may call me Elsie."

Seeing Fiona smile was enough to melt Elsie's heart. "Oh, we'll be good friends, Miss Elsie," she announced excitedly, hurrying over and jumping onto the twin bed with Elsie. "You said you would tell me a story? Will you? Daddy doesn't tell stories anymore, and Granny isn't here to tell them either –"

"I shall," Elsie agreed gently, putting her arm around the girl's shoulders. "Once upon a time, there was a young girl who loved to go fishing in the sea…"

* * *

Charles crept up the stairs quietly; he knew that if he overstayed his few minutes' welcome in the women's corridor that Mrs. Potter would forbid him to see Fiona in the evenings. So it was best if he remained as quiet as possible.

He knocked gently, twice, on the door of the room his daughter shared. He was unsurprised to hear the new head housemaid's melodic Scottish voice calling back, "Come in."

He was, however, astounded, to see his daughter curled up in bed with Miss Hughes, sound asleep. "Miss Hughes, what is –"

"I told her a story and she fell asleep," Miss Hughes said in a matter of fact tone. "I don't have the strength to move her to her own bed, and she said you would come to tuck her in, so I didn't bother."

Charles studied her for a moment, knowing just how inappropriate it was that he was seeing her in her nightdress, no matter she was covered also by a dressing gown. Dear god, what would his mother have said? What would anyone say? Tongues would be wagging and she would likely be ruined –

"Are you going to help me or are you just going to stand there and look like you're about to keel over?" she demanded. "She is your child, not mine."

The words cut him straight through to the soul. Oh, truth, how he was failing Fiona –

He scooped his precious daughter up and placed her into her bed. He tucked her in and pressed a kiss to her forehead as he whispered, "I love you, my girl."

She had risen from her bed and was watching him. He could not bear the thought of her judgement, not now – not today. Any day but the anniversary of Alice's death. Not when the grief was so raw and painful, when every moment felt like an eternity.

He straightened up – and he ran.

Charles Carson ran like all the hounds of Hell were set loose upon on his heels.

Because he had seen in her eyes, in Miss Elsie Hughes's beautiful blue eyes, all the promises of the world, sparkling and new, just waiting for him to lead her on a path of discovery –

And he could not.

He would not dishonor Alice's memory.

He would not, could not, love another.

But he did hide a fleeting smile at the thought that she was watching over his Fiona.

END PART TWO


	3. Chapter 3

Three:  
Cold Light of Morning

Dawn hadn't yet broken when Elsie found herself jolted out of sleep by a flicker of candlelight. She mumbled something unsavory and blinked wearily, trying to figure out where the light was coming from. Abruptly, she realized that it was bloody freezing in the room and the single candle was the only thing allowing Fiona to see as she got dressed for the morning. "Good morning," Elsie murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

Fiona smiled at her and said, "G'morning, Miss Elsie. You should go back to sleep a little longer. It's half three; I've got to get Beryl and the other kitchen maids up. I'll come back at six."

"No, I'm up," Elsie reassured her with a yawn. "Do you want some help with your hair, dear?"

"Yes, please," Fiona said. "Beryl usually does it while we get some tea before Mrs. Oren comes down to the kitchen. But I think she'd like to eat her breakfast instead."

Elsie dragged herself out of bed and stifled another yawn. She took her time, plaiting Fiona's long black hair in a single braid down her back – quite appropriate for a young girl. "There," she said softly, "you look lovely, Miss Fiona."

"Thank you, Miss Elsie," Fiona said very sweetly. "Did my daddy come to say goodnight? I tried to stay awake –"

"He did," Elsie said, "but I don't know if he'll be doing it much more."

Fiona frowned. "Why? Doesn't he love me anymore?"

"Of course he does," Elsie said, "but he saw me in my nightdress last night and it's not exactly what you would call proper unless he meant to court and marry me, Fiona. And I am very certain that your father would not want to do such a thing if he still loves your mother very much."

"I wouldn't mind you being my new mummy," Fiona said cheerfully. "You're very nice."

"Shouldn't you be going to wake the kitchen maids up?" Elsie said, trying to shift the conversation quickly. "You wouldn't want Mrs. Potter to get cross with you."

At the mere mention of the housekeeper, Fiona went scarily pale and hurried to secure her shawl around her shoulders. "Yes, Miss Elsie," she said in a hollow, almost frightened voice.

"Fiona, what's wrong, love?" Elsie asked gently.

"Nothing, Miss Elsie," the little girl whispered. "Go back to sleep." With that, she disappeared from the room, taking the candle with her. Elsie sighed and went back to bed, determined to find out later what was troubling the child so much.

* * *

For the first time in years, Charles Carson was plagued by dreams.

 _A teasing smile, a wry twist of the lips, and a whisper of, "Come now, Charlie, surely such a man as yourself knows how to please a lady." She bit her lower lip, a habit he thought might be borne of nervousness, but in this case only served to make the blood pump harder through his veins._

 _Of course he knew how to please a lady – of course he did,_ _ **of course**_ _. He knew every taste, every flicker of skin against skin that drove a woman wild with lust… Lust. This was all just lust. He wanted the new housemaid; that was all. It did not have to be anything more than want and need and animal instincts; he did not have to see in her all the wonders of life, the universe, and everything._

 _And as such, he realized that it was only a dream – a breath of a wish made upon god's most unlucky star. And because it was a dream, he had control over everything; over his emotions, over his heart… over_ _ **her**_ _._

 _He met her kiss for kiss, a deeper need awakening in him that he could not account for, nor acknowledge._

Charles Carson awoke to the sound of one of the hallboys knocking and announcing it was six o'clock. His union suit was stuck to him in a wet, sticky mess, and he felt such shame in that moment, his face hot and angry with the last remnants of his misspent desire.

God, how he loathed himself. He couldn't even keep himself pure and devoted to Alice in his dreams; how on earth could he manage it in reality?

* * *

Sophie Potter was not an idle woman, nor was she stupid. She knew there was far more to the Scottish maid than had been stated in her interview. And she was determined to find out all of the bitch's secrets. It had been Grace Burke that had hired her; Sophie wasn't at all sure what the old biddy had seen in her at all. Her work was shoddy, her attitude beyond all measure, as though she were too bloody good to work in such a good house.

She'd thought to punish her by putting her in the room with Carson's brat, but the easy, familiar way she had treated the little ingrate at breakfast had belied that effort. It rankled Sophie's cockles; it had taken so much _persuasion_ for Fiona to even spare her a glance, and here the Scottish Whore came in and stole that rug right out from under her. If only Charles would look up from his work for just a moment and see that Sophie was waiting for him –

She made certain to send Elsie out to change the linens in the family's wing; the task was daunting, and would take hours. That would give her plenty of time to have a rummage round her things.

It became painfully obvious that Elsie Hughes didn't have many things at all. Her clothes were all serviceable and plain. Her undergarments were practical, cotton, muslin, no lace – and they smelled faintly of her musk, which made Sophie wrinkle her nose. Surely Scotswomen washed their underthings and weren't dirty, filthy whores! After a few minutes more, she came across Elsie's Bible, the name of Burns inscribed in the flyleaf, births and deaths and a single marriage recorded.

And without warning, Sophie Potter had found Elsie Hughes's weakness.

She would love every moment of lording it over the smug, insufferable bitch.

She could almost feel how wonderful it would be to have the Scotswoman roll over in submission for her.

And with that, she smiled.

END PART THREE


	4. Chapter 4

Four:  
Tattered

She knew that someone had gone through her things. It was hard to miss – her underclothes and few special things had been bunched up and left to wrinkle in the drawers instead of being neatly folded like Elsie had left them. The Bible was still there, though, and that was what was important. She immediately pulled the book out and held it close to her chest, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes. If she pretended just for a few moments that she was holding Joe again, it made everything so much more bearable…

A single tear coursed down her cheek and Elsie opened the Bible, expecting to take out the single photograph that was between its pages. Joe had been so pleased, so proud, to have the photo taken: it showcased his growing family, and to that end, so had she been proud. It was of Joe, Elsie, and her sister, Becky – poor lass 'a little touched' – and wee Sarah, who they had thought would be the first to survive infancy. A few days later, influenza had reigned, taking the tiny babe – and almost Becky and Elsie with her. Elsie hadn't known till days after it happened, till she was much stronger, that Joe had already buried their daughter alone.

The photograph was nowhere to be found. She flipped through every page, and let out an undignified noise of fury at the thought that someone would steal something so important to no one but her! A sob tore at her throat when she realized that the only person holding her a grudge so far was the bloody infuriating housekeeper – surely Fiona would not be such a wicked little girl as to take something like that.

She let her anger get the better of her; it was stupid, it was selfish, it was dangerous. But the photograph was all she had left of her family, and she would fight to the death to keep it. Mrs. Potter hadn't the right to go through her things, let alone take something so bloody important –

She stormed into the housekeeper's sitting room without knocking and slammed the door shut behind her. "Give it back," Elsie ordered in a low, dangerous tone.

Mrs. Potter looked up with false innocence painted all over her features. "Why, Miss Hughes, I have no idea what you're talking about –"

"I think you do," Elsie ground out furiously. "Give it back to me now. You have no right to go through my things – and don't think I don't know your disgusting perfume that smells like cat piss."

"That perfume was a gift from Her Ladyship," Mrs. Potter said, her voice taking on a dangerous edge. "And you would be well-put not to accuse your betters of things you know not of – haven't you asked the girl yet why she took whatever you're looking for?"

"Fiona wouldn't take it – it has no meaning to her," Elsie hissed.

"Mrs. Burns," Mrs. Potter hissed, her voice lowering to a growl, "you would do quite well to remember that you are still a guest in this house until your employment is secured. Don't tempt me to turn you back into the cold."

Elsie bit her cheek, but she could not hold her anger in check. "Is that how you run a great house, then? By manipulating and frightening everyone until they bend to your will?" The words were sharp, cutting, and she didn't see the housekeeper react until it was too late to stop the blow from landing on her cheek. The pain was sharp, biting, and Elsie blinked back tears.

"If you wish your employment to continue, you will follow the rules I am about to lay down for you," Mrs. Potter said, drawing herself sternly upright. "There will be no followers. You will do exactly as you are told – by me – and nothing more, nothing less. You will stop making stupid cow eyes at Charles Carson. And his daughter is to become a scullery maid when she turns seven, so don't you dare think you can mother her." She leaned in and whispered so only Elsie could hear, "The upstairs maids take care of one another, Mrs. Burns. You would do well to remember that."

Elsie stood there, in shock, hoping that her ears were deceiving her; that the woman was lying. But she knew from her youthful experience in the big house that it would be the truth. The upstairs maids then had been paired off in rooms and expected to handle themselves in matters of sexual satisfaction, to keep the men away.

She had never wanted or needed such a release – she had left as soon as Joe proposed to her, and not long later, she was a bride at seventeen.

"Don't look so shocked, my dear," Mrs. Potter said. "I'd like to think you'd be my special… pet." She was too close, overwhelming Elsie with the stink of her perfume, of misbegotten luxury, of corruption and pain inflicted on others. "If you want your photograph back…"

The evil git was twisting the knife, and Elsie made her choice.

Eyes downcast, swallowing her pride – after all, she needed this employment desperately -, she whispered, "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Charles wondered how he could gently broach the subject of his visiting Fiona in the evenings without offending Miss Hughes. She had been very quiet and withdrawn at tea, going so far as to lean her chair away from him; he was confused by the action, and he had caught more than one hesitant glance in Mrs. Potter's direction from Miss Hughes, followed by a scowl from the housekeeper.

Whatever was going on, he wasn't certain he wanted to be a part of it. Mrs. Potter made his skin scrawl – there was something just… not quite right about her. His mother had warned him more than once that 'the Potter woman' had a cruel streak that needed to be nipped in the bud, but Mr. Jenkyns usually stepped in before disciplinary action was required.

No matter what the cause, the phrase 'disciplinary action' gave him momentary pause; the implication was dire.

He managed to catch Miss Hughes in the servant's hall alone around a quarter of four. "Hello," Charles said, his voice rising slightly in his excitement. "I was hoping to speak to you today, Miss Hughes – I realize that you might have been offended last night by my visit and…"

"I am not offended," she said softly, not meeting his eyes. Instead, she studiously continued her needlework – she was in the middle of what looked to be a magnificent piece of very detailed lacework, delicate and precise, her fingers working the tatting quickly and efficiently amongst the pins and needles. "But… maybe I should arrange to be absent at Fiona's bedtime, so you may spend time with her unencumbered by the idea of being seen by others."

He blinked and said, "Yes, I suppose you're correct, but –"

"Mr. Carson," she spoke, "I will care for her when you cannot, but you must spend time with her. And it is not my place to be there when you are doing so." Finally she looked up at him, her eyes large, blue, swimming with tears. "You are a good father. And you need be for her sake because no one else will watch out for Fiona like you."

Before he could stop himself, the words left his lips. "You have done."

"She's a lovely girl," Miss Hughes said, glancing away. "Her mother is a very lucky woman."

"Her mother is dead," he said bluntly.

Her fingers flew again, so fast he could barely see how she could keep the threads untangled, and she murmured, "Which is why you should spend as much time with your daughter as possible, Mr. Carson. I would only be in the way."

"It's your room," he protested.

"Mr. Carson," she began, then stopped.

"Miss Hughes," he prompted gently.

She hesitated, looking up at him again, then shook her head and glanced back down. "It's nothing," she said very quietly, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. "I'll stay away until I know you've gone to the men's corridor."

He knew it was inappropriate, he knew it would backfire on him, but he had to touch her – he needed to feel her skin against his, even if it was only fleeting. He reached out and touched her hand; she stilled, her gaze flying up to meet his with alarm, if not outright panic. "Miss Hughes, I've never known Fiona to take so quickly to anyone but Beryl Patmore," Charles said. "Thank you for being there for my daughter and treating her with kindness." He swallowed hard. "And for not accusing me of unspeakable things."

A tiny smile crept at the corner of her mouth. "I wouldn't accuse you of unspeakable things unless they were true, Mr. Carson, and you seem to be far too polite for that," she joked wryly. "Now away with you before Mrs. Potter finds out you've been in here."

Mrs. Potter could bloody go hang – he wanted to be in the room with Miss Hughes. He wanted to watch her working, to study the curve of her neck, the way her fingers moved, the way her cheeks flushed when someone came in and disturbed her.

He found her elegant, beautiful, full of life and promise. But he could never, would never, admit it aloud. God forbid he ever admit it to himself even.

"You're right," he agreed. "Heaven forbid Mrs. Potter get her knickers in a twist."

She bit back a near-hysterical laugh, and he retreated. He paused outside the doorway in the corridor, then turned to look back at her. Charles felt his heart clench in dismay and worry when he watched her beautiful face crumple for a moment, showing complete despair, before she managed to control herself.

He never wanted to be the reason she would cry.

* * *

Fiona didn't know why Miss Elsie had left so suddenly; daddy was going to come see her and they would talk about what they did all day today. Miss Elsie had been so very nice and had helped her dress her wax doll in the new nightdress Beryl had sewn for her, but then she'd disappeared.

Fiona hoped she would come back. She liked Miss Elsie very much; she was kind and sweet and she reminded her of granny a little. She missed granny a lot. Granny had told stories and played games with her, and Miss Elsie did that, too.

She wondered if that was what it was like to have a mummy of her own. She didn't know, not really, because she didn't have one and she didn't have any aunts or uncles, either.

Just daddy and Beryl and Miss Elsie.

Mrs. Potter tried to be nice, sometimes, but she scared Fiona. She'd been struck repeatedly by the woman and she'd… The little girl clung tighter to her doll and tried not to think about the bad things and the monster under her bed.

The door opened and daddy walked in. "Hello, pet," he said with a smile. "Why the long face, darling? Didn't Beryl make your dolly a new dress?"

"Yes, but Miss Elsie left," Fiona said with a little pout. "And you won't tell me a story."

"I don't really know any," daddy admitted. "Why don't you tell me a story, and then I'll know one?"

Fiona hesitated, then said, "Okay, daddy." She patted the bed, indicating where he should sit. "Once upon a time, there was a shoemaker –"

She told the story of the shoemaker and the elves, like granny had told her, and she snuggled up against her daddy, feeling safe and sleepy and warm. Daddy would keep the monster away; and if he didn't, Miss Elsie would.

END PART FOUR


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: The next few chapters will have trigger warnings attached.

 **TRIGGER WARNING: sexual abuse of an adult.**

* * *

Five:  
Shifting Sands

 _May 1891_

Elsie hated herself. She hated herself for not fighting back; she hated herself for taking Mrs. Potter's abuse. She hated herself for living; she didn't feel like she had the right, nor the privilege, to die. So, instead, she hated herself because it was easier.

No one else knew of her shame, of the evenings spent in Mrs. Potter's company as Mr. Carson tucked Fiona in and read to her from books that Elsie supplied from the library or the mail order catalogues. No one knew that Mrs. Potter was a cruel and sadistic mistress to her 'pet'; Elsie felt dirty, sick, every night when she crept away to the bath, hoping to wash away the bruises, the scent of another woman.

She could not even find the strength to cry. What good would it do? She had made her bed – with Mrs. Potter under the bloody coverlet – and now she must live with the consequences. The woman still had yet to give Elsie back her photograph, despite telling her over and over again that she would.

So she kept her on a string like a toy, drawing her back over and over again.

Elsie gained no enjoyment from it; her body reacted to Mrs. Potter's intimate touches, but her mind cowered in shame, submitting without thought or reason behind the action. God, if only she had the courage to –

Fiona was the only thing that kept her sane. The girl loved her unreservedly and as sweetly as she could, and she did not judge Elsie like the adults would. It didn't matter that she was being fucked – and there was no other word, so hard, so harsh, so cruel… aside from _rape_ , and god knows it practically was – by the housekeeper; she was perfect and the best of friends in Fiona's eyes.

If Mr. Carson knew… he would take the child away. And then Elsie would be left with nothing but her sorrows and a wish to drown herself in the bath.

She didn't want to think of Mr. Carson – not now, when she was scrubbing away the faint scent of Mrs. Potter's perfume from her thighs. He was too good, too perfect, for her: he would never allow himself to be tainted by such scandal as Elsie had wrought upon herself. She was a fool, a bloody fool…

Mrs. Potter was the jealous type, and she punished Elsie severely when she knew that Elsie had interacted with Mr. Carson. She did not like to share her toys, and her 'pet' was not allowed to have other friends. He did not stop trying to engage Elsie in gentle discourse, however, and she found herself eager for the stolen moments. Charles was a good man, a kind man, and the staggered difference between his rugged gentleness and Mrs. Potter's harsh cruelty made Elsie hate herself even more.

When Mrs. Potter was between her legs, Elsie closed herself off, retreating to a place where she could pretend she was good enough, worthy enough, to win Charles Carson's love. The housekeeper's angry touch, her cruel tongue, all gave way to a delicate fantasy world where Elsie and Charles made love instead of the travesty, the blackmail, the… the pain… that Elsie endured in reality.

And she hated herself even more because he would never love her; not after what she'd done. She had brought this upon herself. It was all her own bloody fault.

She bit her lip so hard she drew blood.

Layers of bruises covered her thighs, her sex, her belly… and she closed her eyes against the torrent of tears and pain as she tried, yet again, to wash away the filth.

* * *

 _Miss Hughes, I'm terribly afraid I've fallen in love with you…_

Charles knew the moment he was lost entirely; he would never forget it as long as he lived. Fiona had run across the servants' hall, her doll snugly in her arms, to tell Miss Hughes about the new dress that she was going to get for her birthday. She had been all smiles and happiness, interrupting Miss Hughes as she tatted lace for Her Ladyship's new gown. And in the span of little more than a heartbeat, Miss Hughes had set aside her project and had scooped Fiona onto her lap, smiling indulgently as a mother would do, listening to Charles's little girl prattle on and on.

He longed with all of his heart to see her smile again. She did not do it often, her face normally carrying a sad, pensive countenance that pained him physically. He wanted her to be happy, to smile and laugh and – and – and what if she did? She would not ever care for him the same way he cared for her. His desires were improper, his wants ungentlemanly. She would be horrified if he ever told her how he wanted to know if she tasted as delicious as Beryl's apple tart. He wanted to know if she would bite her lip to stay silent (he rather thought she would, and it made him instantly hard when she did it in the servants' hall when she concentrated) when he would thrust into her, taking pleasure in the union of their flesh.

She would loathe him if she ever knew.

Miss Hughes did not want him; she went out of her way to not be alone with him. He wanted her with fierce desperation, with a love that came out of nowhere and shocked him with its intensity. He could not deny himself, not now. Not when he had already warred with the guilt and won, standing victor over his broken heart.

He loved her, and he could never _ever_ tell her.

She would hate him.

No, better to love Miss Hughes from afar than to risk having his heart shattered again.

If he did not try, he could not be hurt.

* * *

Miss Hughes burst into the room Beryl shared with Genevieve (another kitchen maid), and pushed Fiona inside. "Miss Patmore," she barked, interrupting the women's change into their nightwear, "keep Fiona here and whatever you do, don't allow Mrs. Potter near her."

Beryl paused for a long second before letting her nightdress drop over her shoulders, her waist, her knickers. She turned and got a look of the head housemaid and gasped aloud. "Miss Hughes, what ha-"

"Just promise me," Miss Hughes demanded, "that you will keep Fiona safe, no matter what."

The Scotswoman's eye was bruised – blackened – and swollen closed. Bloody scratches ran down the side of her face and the part of her neck that was exposed by her torn collar. Her hair was half down, pins sticking out akimbo where they could no longer hold back and tame the curls, as if someone had yanked it hard, repeatedly, and Beryl saw blood congealing in the woman's hair. She had been attacked – with the force of a beast – make no mistake.

"Come here, Fiona, love," Beryl said, her voice shaking. "Auntie Beryl's got you now, love." She invited Charlie's little girl into her arms and held her, letting her cry. "I love you, darling. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

When she looked up again, Miss Hughes was gone.

END PART FIVE


	6. Chapter 6

A/N:  
 **TRIGGER WARNINGS: sexual abuse of an adult; sexual assault of a minor (non-descriptive).**

* * *

Six:  
Tilting Axis

Her Ladyship was in her nightdress and dressing gown; Elsie was still in her torn uniform. The strained quiet between them was so thick with _atmosphere_ that it could have been sliced with a knife. Finally, Her Ladyship spoke.

"Miss Hughes, Mrs. Burke spoke highly of your interview and championed you very highly to join our household," Lady Cora began. "But I cannot and will not condone the actions of someone who would attack the housekeeper for no reason at all –"

Elsie's jaw dropped; the evil cow had already begun a smear campaign against her. "M'lady, I can assure you that there was a reason: a very good reason," she hissed, her voice dropping low.

"I am sorry, Miss Hughes, but nothing – _nothing_ – justifies what you have done," Lady Cora said firmly but patiently. "Mrs. Potter is your superior and has recommended that you be dismissed without character immediately." She paused, then added, "She says that your behavior is unbecoming a housemaid, that your work is shoddy, and that you encourage members of the male staff. I've seen nothing of the sort, so I would like to ask your side of what occurred tonight, please, before I make a final decision."

Elsie finally looked up from her hands and said, very succinctly, "I walked into the room that I share with Fiona Carson and found Mrs. Potter with her hands up the girl's nightgown, touching her… private areas. I lost my temper when she suggested that I should 'join her' and I might have done her injury, m'lady."

"You broke her arm," Lady Cora said.

 _She broke me first. She threw the first blow. I only defended myself and that wee, poor girl._

" _No one_ has the right to touch a bairn like that," Elsie said. "You may do what you like to me – give me the sack, send me away… but I protected that little girl when no one else has." She took a deep breath and looked back at her hands. "I will not say I am sorry, because I am not."

Lady Cora was very quiet for a long time. She finally said, "It's a very grave accusation you've made against Mrs. Potter, Miss Hughes, and I am sure she will deny any wrongdoing."

Something about the way she said it made Elsie look up, searching the mistress's face. "Someone else has accused her of this before?"

"One of the housemaids accused her of impropriety as she left to be married," Lady Cora said delicately. "This was when Mrs. Potter was still head housemaid, before she took over for Mrs. Burke. But with no evidence –"

Elsie almost leapt at the chance. "I have evidence, m'lady," she said very quietly, "but you will not like it."

"Show me," Lady Cora demanded brusquely.

Feeling no shame, Elsie hiked up her skirts, her petticoats, and unclipped her left stocking. She rolled it down her leg, then quickly pulled down her knickers, allowing the lady of the house to see the very fresh scratches that spelled out 'Sophie' at the top of the inside of her thigh, near her sex, still oozing blood, not quite scabbed yet. "You may do what you like to me, m'lady," Elsie whispered, "but she is a monster and she cannot be allowed to hurt anyone else." She met her employer's gaze with an honesty, a forthright manner she had not felt in months. "God knows what might happen if she's left near Lady Mary."

Lady Cora's hand flew to her lips and she smothered a gasp. "Oh my god, you don't think –"

Elsie redressed and murmured, "I'll go pack my things –"

Lady Cora shook her head, hard. "No, you will not. Miss Hughes, I want you to go to the library and wait for my husband and I. It might take a little while, but we will come for you." She paused, then asked, "How long has this been going on?"

"Almost as long as I've been here," Elsie admitted, the shame finally overwhelming her again. "She stole something from my room and has been blackmailing me and… humiliating… and abusing –"

"Raping," Cora corrected angrily. "She has raped you, Miss Hughes, just as surely as a man would have. You cannot gild the lily and call it a rose."

"I thought…" Elsie began, hesitating. "I thought if she did it to me, she wouldn't do it to anyone else. I was wrong. I was so wrong –"

"Oh, god, please don't cry," Lady Cora begged. "Don't cry – it will set me off again. The babe is making me soppy," she explained, her hand protectively going over her abdomen. "We've not told anyone yet, but…"

Elsie smiled wanly. "Another wee one in the nursery will be a joy, m'lady," she said softly. "A joy after all the bad things that have happened."

"Miss Hughes, I will not dismiss you from your post," Lady Cora promised. "But you must make me a vow that as long as you are here, you will come to me and tell me the truth. It doesn't matter what the circumstance; I trust you to tell me the truth and nothing but now. Mr. Carson is the only other member of staff I trust that way, so it is an honor not easily given."

"It will be my honor, m'lady," Elsie whispered.

"Go to the library and wait," Lady Cora instructed.

Elsie did just that.

* * *

Robert Crawley considered himself to be a fair man, and a good employer. He trusted his staff to handle things downstairs, keep the place running, so he did not have to think too much upon the day-to-day running of things. But for his wife to come to him, with allegations of abuse, sexual perversion, and violence against the housekeeper… it threw everything into disarray that he had carefully built up.

Of course, he believed Cora, and he knew that she believed what the head housemaid had told her, but the truth of the matter might be altogether different than the one she was presented with. One disgruntled employee against the word of the butler and the housekeeper…

"Mrs. Potter," Robert began, "there have been several serious allegations made against you tonight."

The woman rolled her eyes and snorted a bit. "That Elsie Hughes has had it in for me since the moment she arrived," she muttered. "God knows what Mrs. Burke promised her during that interview, m'lord, but she arrived with such cheek and bad manners and I've been forced to correct her every day."

Robert didn't like the way Mrs. Potter immediately shifted the conversation to blaming the head housemaid for everything; it smacked of misdirection. "Mrs. Potter, I am not talking about Miss Hughes – I am talking about you," he said firmly. "You have been accused of molesting Mr. Carson's daughter, and of sexually abusing and raping a member of staff under your care. I do not take these allegations lightly."

"Good," Mrs. Potter huffed. "The person making them should be punished. I would never –"

Mr. Jenkyns glanced over at her and said, "One of the hallboys came to me not long ago and said that you had groped him through his trousers. I did not listen to him –"

Robert shared a look with Cora; this problem had become infinitely worse. If Jenkyns had heard rumors or accusations, and had not acted upon them, he would be complicit. He would have to go as well; destroy all the bad in one fell swoop.

"I've never –"

Cora spoke up. "Mrs. Potter, I have seen evidence that you have," she said. "And because of said evidence, you would be lucky if I merely were to give you the sack rather than send for the constable to have you locked away. Do you understand? You are to pack your things and leave immediately. You will not have a reference; god help you ever find another job, Mrs. Potter, because I will not lift a finger to help you." She took a deep breath, and said, "And you will give back what you stole from Miss Hughes. Immediately."

Mrs. Potter's hateful gaze jerked up to Cora's, and her lips twisted into a smile. "I'm sorry, m'lady, but I can't do that… I burned it months ago."

Cora glared at her and hissed, "Get out of my sight, you evil, wicked creature."

There was a moment of quiet, then Mrs. Potter said, "Elsie may say she didn't want it, that it was forced… but she enjoyed every moment, m'lady. _Every bloody moment_."

Robert saw how angry and agitated Cora was becoming and he rounded on the former housekeeper. "Get out of my house this instant," he said, fury growing. "Give me your keys and get out. _**NOW**_."

The room grew very quiet as Mrs. Potter removed her chatelaine and threw it at Robert's feet. "I hope you go to hell," Mrs. Potter hissed. "All of you."

They watched in silence as she left the room. Robert turned to Jenkyns and asked, "How long have you been ignoring allegations against Mrs. Potter? And tell me the truth: you have two weeks to train Mr. Carson to take over your duties. After that, I never want to see you or hear your name again."

"Two years," Jenkyns admitted, very quietly. "Miss Patterson and Miss Grey both complained, and several hallboys and one of the stable lads –"

"Two years and you didn't bloody think to tell anyone?" Robert shouted. "How many more people did she harm that never came forward, Jenkyns? Do you have any idea what a scandal like this could do to my family? _My_ house? If it gets out that my servants abuse one another, how can I guarantee that they will not abuse the guests in my home? What woman in her right mind – or man, for that matter – will want to willingly work in this house, knowing what's happened? _**You make me sick."**_

"My lord –"

"You are lucky I don't have you thrown out on your ear tonight," Robert hissed. "There are children involved, Jenkyns. _Children_. Your judgment is seriously compromised."

"Robert," Cora said softly, taking his hand, "we need to go speak to Miss Hughes. It will do no one any good if you continue to bluster at the butler."

He grunted something inaudible – or he hoped it was inaudible, or she might do him bodily harm.

The very thought of such horrors going on in his home made him sick to his stomach. What if that woman had touched Mary? What if she had gone on to raise a hand toward or touch the babe not yet born? Dear god… he could only imagine the pain Carson would be going through right now.

* * *

Charles scooped up Fiona like she was a little rag doll, holding her so close, so tightly. "Oh, my sweet girl," he whispered, "are you hurt? Did Mrs. Potter hurt you?"

"Yes, but Miss Elsie made her stop," Fiona murmured, hugging him tight. "Is Miss Elsie going to be okay? She got hurt bad, daddy."

"I don't know, love," Charles whispered. "I haven't seen her – but you're all right, aren't you? That's what matters now –"

"No, Miss Elsie needs to be all right," Fiona said stubbornly. "She made Mrs. Potter's arm make a cracking noise. I think she broke it. And Mrs. Potter hit Miss Elsie in the eye and hurt her bad, daddy – I've got to know she's okay. She protected me, daddy."

Beryl swallowed hard and nodded. "She looked like she'd been in the wars, Charlie," she said quietly. "She made me promise to take care of your girl and then she was gone."

Genevieve commented, "Lord Grantham doesn't take kindly to scuffles belowstairs, does he? He's probably turned Miss Hughes out the door and locked it behind her already."

" _ **NO**_!" Fiona shrieked, pushing out of her father's arms and landing on the floor with a thud. "No, she can't go!"

"She may have to if she hurt Mrs. Potter as badly as you say she did, love," Charles said. He knew Lord Grantham would not stand for violence belowstairs, no matter what the provocation; the instigators would be given their marching orders and sent straight out the door. His heart clenched at the thought of never seeing Elsie Hughes again, never being able to see that sweet smile… dear, sweet, merciful lord, he couldn't lose someone else.

"Daddy, I want Miss Elsie to stay," Fiona sobbed. "I want her to stay and be with me – she's so nice and I want her to be my Auntie like Beryl and – and – "

"Shh, love," Charles whispered. "Shh."

How could he soothe his daughter when he could not even soothe himself?

END PART SIX


	7. Chapter 7

Seven:  
Looking Up

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake. "Miss Hughes? Miss Hughes…"

Oh, how her head ached! She had sat down in one of the oversized chairs in the library to wait for His and Her Lordship to arrive, and she had fallen asleep, dizzy and nauseated from the blows Mrs. Potter had delivered to her head. She tried to open one eye and merely let out a whimper instead.

"Miss Hughes," Lady Cora said gently, "try to lift your head… Robert, I think we need to send one of the young men out to fetch the doctor. Setting a broken arm is one thing, but this – I think she may have a concussion."

"M'lady, you shouldn't be worried about me," Elsie slurred, knowing that her brogue and her pain and fatigue would render the words almost unintelligible. "Fiona – is she –"

"Fiona is all right," Lady Cora assured her. "Mr. Carson and Miss Patmore are taking quite good care of her." She paused, gently stroking Elsie's cheek. "And it is our turn to repay your kindness, Miss Hughes."

"It wasn't kindness that made me do it," Elsie admitted, feeling sadder, smaller, and more alone than she'd ever felt before. "I was selfish; I wanted to be the one that protected her. I feel like… like I've become important to Fiona and – and – I love her like she were one of my own wee bairns."

"You have children?" Lady Cora asked, surprised.

Elsie blinked her good eye, then breathed, "Not anymore. Maybe not really before."

"I don't understand," Lady Cora murmured.

"None of them lived past a year," Elsie mumbled. "It broke my Joe and it tore me apart."

"Where is Mr. Hughes?" Lady Cora asked gently.

"Mr. Burns," Elsie corrected softly, "is in the ground. And I am alone now, for always." She sat up and pressed the palm of her hand to her temple, exhaling weakly. "My head is pounding."

"I shouldn't wonder why," Lord Robert said firmly. "You look like you took a few good blows, Miss Hughes – can you stand?"

"No, I don't think I should try," Elsie whispered.

"Then rest where you are," Lord Robert invited. "Mrs. Potter has been released from service to our household without reference. Mr. Jenkyns will be leaving our employ shortly. I have a replacement for the butler chosen already, but the housekeeper's position will be rather more difficult to fill."

"No, Robert, it will be quite easy to fill," Lady Cora said. "Miss Hughes, I should like it very much if you were to take the keys to the house. You will, of course, receive a pay rise, and an allowance for two new dresses per year, as the housekeeper is meant to take charge of her own wardrobe."

"M'lady, I'm only twenty-nine," Elsie protested quietly. "I've not had the experience –"

"You will learn," Lady Cora said. "Besides, there is no one else I would trust."

Elsie hesitated a moment, then exhaled. "I… you want me to be housekeeper."

"It's what Mrs. Burke intended you to be trained for," Lady Cora said gently. "She and I discussed it; she was to hire you to be her replacement, and Potter was never meant to take over." She paused. "You did know that Mrs. Burke was Mr. Carson's mother, didn't you?"

"No," Elsie whispered, "no, I didn't know that – "

"She always wanted what was best for everyone, upstairs and downstairs, and we were better for having known her," Lord Robert commented. "We were all at her funeral."

Elsie swallowed hard. "Then I will endeavor to be as she was, and please you all," she said quietly. "I shall try."

"Good," Lord Robert said. "Very good indeed, Mrs. Hughes." He handed her a chatelaine, keys and rings and all sorts of things tumbling from the clip on chains. "This is to be yours, then. Guard it with your life."

She blinked and felt the heavy weight in her hands. "My life is worth far less than the keys on this ring," she said softly.

"Your life is worth far more than any of this," Lady Cora said sharply. "Any of it."

But Elsie didn't know that for certain.

* * *

There was a knock on the door. Beryl opened it quickly and took a step back. "M'lady," she said quickly, "what are you doing up here?"

"Miss Hughes has been seen by the doctor. She will be right as rain in a few days," Lady Cora said with a small smile. She glanced past the woman and into the room, where Charles was sitting on one of the beds, holding Fiona. Genvieve had gone to another room for the night, leaving Charles and Beryl to talk and imbibe a little whiskey as they waited for news. "She wanted me to come and check on Fiona."

"Fiona is asleep," Charles said. "But she will be pleased that Miss Hughes is still here."

"Of course she is," Lady Cora said.

"M'lady, what about Mrs. Potter?" Beryl asked, hesitantly.

"She is gone, for good," Lady Cora said in a firm but kind tone. "And the first thing Miss Hughes did was ask me to officially promote you to assistant cook, Miss Patmore. Which should have been done years ago, honestly, so it is no issue at all. Your new position will begin in a few days."

"Congratulations, Beryl," Charles said.

Beryl was surprised; she didn't think the head housemaid cared enough about her one way or the other to even know that she'd been held back in the first place. "Thank you, m'lady –"

"Thank Miss Hughes," Lady Cora said with a smile on her lips. "Tomorrow. Right now, she's under strict orders from Dr. James to rest."

"May I take Fiona back to her room?" Charles asked. "She had an awful time going to sleep without her doll and the blanket my mother made for her."

"Yes, of course," Lady Cora said. "I just wanted to –"

"You need your rest, m'lady," Beryl said. "Charlie and me, we'll handle things now."

"Yes, of course you will," Lady Cora said with a small smile. "Thank you, Miss Patmore, Mr. Carson."

* * *

Beryl left him at the doorway; she had only come along with the candle so he could see in the darkness as he carried Fiona. Charles knew that Miss Hughes would still have a candle burning in the room she shared with his daughter, at least for a few more minutes. He knew her well enough to know that she would not sleep well until the 'wee lass' was tucked in properly.

He moved through the flickering candlelight to lay Fiona in her bed, ignoring the chaos around the room from the fight earlier in the night, knowing it did no good to try to contemplate it in the dark of night. He didn't want to think of either Fiona or Elsie – dear god, he could not call her by her Christian name in public or people would think the most awful things of them – being caught up in such a horrible thing, but it had been so, and it would hurt him deeply to think of it.

"Mr. Carson," Miss Hughes said softly from her bed, "thank you for bringing her home… I know it's late."

He straightened up, his back protesting a bit; he was not used to carrying Fiona for any length of time anymore, and it made him twinge. "I did not want to inconvenience Beryl any longer tonight," he said gruffly as he turned to look at her.

Even in the flickering candlelight, she looked a fright. His heart beat faster in panic, knowing that she was in pain and god, she looked like she had – He swallowed hard, pushing back his emotions so she could not see them.

Miss Hughes glanced over at Fiona and said, "I care for your daughter very deeply, Mr. Carson, and I am sorry I could not prevent Mrs. Potter in doing what she did. I can never apologize enough for you – or Fiona – to understand…"

"Miss Hughes," Charles choked out, "we both understand. You needn't worry about that."

She was crying and he felt powerless; even more so when she whispered, "I don't ever want her to resent my not coming forward and stopping it –"

He went to war with himself, denying, accepting, a tug of war that might tear him apart if he did not act. So he acted, crossing the remaining space between the beds and ever so gently cupping his Elsie's face in his hands. Charles leaned into her, a gentle, sweet kiss passing between them – filled with gratitude, kindness, and no small amount of love. There was nothing improper in it, beyond it happening in the middle of the night in the darkness, and he found himself overcome. She was like a siren's call and he would do well to give in now.

"Thank you," he whispered, pulling away, "for taking care of my darling girl."

And before she could say anything, before she could comment on the whiskey still lingering on his breath, before she could confront him about impropriety and anything else she might be able to throw his way, he left.

He did not sleep.

His mind was far too consumed.

END PART SEVEN


	8. Chapter 8

Eight:  
A New Day

Elsie got up at a half past three with Fiona, in spite of the fact that she'd only gone to sleep what seemed a few minutes before that. As was her habit, she braided Fiona's hair into a single, delicate plait and tied it off with a scrap of ribbon from her sewing scraps. "Have a good morning, dear," Elsie murmured, trying not to show how tired and in pain she felt.

Once Fiona was gone, she collapsed back into bed, closing her one good eye, praying that the braid had been straight and that no one would judge her harshly for letting the girl out looking slovenly. Sleep washed over her like a wave, dragging her under.

The next thing she knew, she was hearing the knocks on the doors that signaled six am and Fiona's softly insistent, "It's six – time to get up." The only door that wasn't knocked upon was hers. Elsie stifled a yawn and closed her eyes again.

She hadn't yet gone back to sleep when the door opened and she heard small footfalls coming toward the bed. She opened her eye just a crack and watched Fiona grab her doll and her patchwork blanket. She turned and scurried over to the bed and lifted the covers, crawling underneath with Elsie, pressing her small body tight against hers in the confined space. Elsie felt her heart shatter; she put her arm around the girl and held her close.

"Shouldn't you be in the kitchens?" Elsie murmured.

Fiona shook her head and whispered, "Daddy and Beryl said you're s'posed to rest, Miss Elsie. I'm s'posed to make sure you do."

"Oh, my darling girl," Elsie sighed softly, stroking Fiona's hair and back. "Thank you…"

"Daddy calls me that," Fiona said with a little smile on her lips. "He says when you love someone very much, you have a special name for them. Can I call you Auntie Elsie?"

"You can call me whatever you like, love," Elsie murmured, still petting the girl, soothing both Fiona and herself with the simple, repetitive motions. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend that Fiona was one of her own bairns… and be happy for a few moments in the storm.

* * *

Charles finished dressing Lord Grantham and fought hard to stifle a yawn. He was not in the best frame of mind or heart this morning; lack of sleep and the previous night's emotional upheaval had made him snappish at breakfast. Mr. Jenkyns had commented on the absence of Mrs. Potter and Miss Hughes in an off-handed manner to the rest of the staff and Charles had almost snapped his head off.

"Carson," Lord Robert said, "last night's affair was a bloody business, but we must attempt to put it behind us."

"I am not certain I have the fortitude to forgive and forget on that scale, m'lord," Charles said. "My daughter was done injury – I still have not been told what kind, and she would not tell me – and Miss Hughes was done greater injury by trying to protect my child. I – I cannot just sweep it under the rug and pretend that nothing happened."

Lord Robert nodded and sighed. "Mr. Jenkyns will be leaving us in two weeks' time," he said. "I have need of a steady, sturdy man to become butler, and there is no one I would better have in that position, Carson, than you. For the time being, we will have to gloss over what occurred last night, if only so you would be trained and released into the position. Do you understand?"

Charles blinked. "My lord, you cannot possibly mean –"

"There is, of course, a pay rise and an additional small allowance for Fiona to remain in the household," Lord Robert said, "just as there has been in the past. I should hope that she is being prepared to go into service…"

Charles swallowed hard. "About that, my lord… I'm not certain we should set her to work in the kitchens for another year or two – especially after last night." He paused. "But I understand if you still wish it, I will make certain that it happens with the new housekeeper's approval."

"What would you suggest as an alternative?" Lord Robert inquired. "We cannot allow her to run amok unsupervised…"

"I could enroll her in the village school during the seasons, and we can continue on as before in the evenings and… I don't know, my lord," Charles said, feeling defeated. He could see His Lordship's point, but he hated that there was no clear path to take. Becoming the butler would mean longer hours, far more duties, and as such, even less time to spend with Fiona. Maybe… maybe letting her work in the kitchens wasn't such a bad thing. At least then she would have Beryl to keep an eye out for her.

"Well, think on it, Carson," Lord Robert said with a kind smile. "I know that it is a large decision that will affect the rest of her life. And I do not want you to believe that I am unfeeling – but I do want what is best for your daughter as much as you do."

"Who is to become housekeeper?" Charles asked, as if the notion had just struck him that the entire ship was unhelmed at the moment. And really, it had just occurred to him – he felt a pillock for not having realized it.

"Mrs. Hughes will be taking over as soon as the doctor deems her able to leave her bed," Lord Robert said. "Until then, Madge will be directing the maids, and you and Jenkyns will be following up on the paperwork and invoice orders. One thing I will say for Mrs. Potter – her paperwork was impeccable and all of her ducklings were in a row when she left."

Charles barely heard anything after the assertion that Elsie Hughes was going to be the new housekeeper. He would be butler and she would be housekeeper; they would be in charge, together.

Such an idea both thrilled and terrified him.

How on earth could he hide his feelings for her when they would be forced together multiple times in a day? How could he possibly keep her from seeing that he was distracted to distraction by her very presence? Dear god, she would think him absolutely a cad, unseemly, such a –

In the harsh light of morning, the kiss they had shared last night, however innocent, did not seem such a brilliant idea.

* * *

Elsie was almost asleep again. Mr. Carson had come in and checked to see that she had everything she needed for the evening, and then had set about tucking Fiona into bed for the night. But she stayed awake when she heard Fiona say, "Can you tell me about my mummy, daddy?"

There was a long pause, then Mr. Carson said in a voice thick with emotion, "Your mummy was a very handsome woman, Fiona. You know the photograph I have in my room…"

"She is very pretty," Fiona chirped.

"That was your mummy," he said. "Her name was Alice; she sang like the breath of the angels, and she was good, decent, and kind. She loved you very much and never wanted to leave you, my darling girl. She would be so very proud of you."

"How did she die?" Fiona asked.

"Never you mind that," he said. "She was very ill for a short time when you were born."

"Was it 'acause of me she died, daddy?"

"No," Mr. Carson choked out. Elsie knew from the amount of pain in his voice that he was lying, and her heart broke for him. "She loved you very, very much, my darling girl, and she looks down on you from heaven every day to make certain you're growing up strong and healthy."

"Is mummy an angel?" Fiona asked.

"I rather think she is," Mr. Carson breathed.

"Maybe she sent another angel to take care of me," Fiona murmured sleepily. "I think she sent Auntie Elsie, daddy."

"Maybe," Mr. Carson said. He was quiet for a long moment. Clearly, he thought Elsie was asleep, or he would never have said what he did. "I think she did, Fiona. I think she did."

Elsie fought to keep her breathing under control, low and shallow as though she were asleep, despite the fact that her heart was racing and she wanted to throw her arms around the lovely man and assure him that she was no angel sent from heaven. She was only a woman, and – and –

And she was in dire danger of falling in love with him.

Love meant pain.

Love meant making love.

Love meant more pregnancies, more chances to lose everything –

She could not give in. She could not let anyone have that much control over her ever again.

Even after he left, she sat awake, praying for something to steady her, to calm her, to make her whole again.

Elsie could not believe in a god so cruel that he would force her to relive her nightmarish memories all over again.

END PART EIGHT


	9. Chapter 9

Nine:  
All Things New

 _June 1891_

"Auntie Elsie, I'm seven today," Fiona proclaimed in a very grave tone.

"Yes, you are," Elsie agreed as she plaited Fiona's hair. It was still black as night outside, and the only light they had was the flickering candle. "Seven is a very good age." She refrained from telling the girl that it was her birthday, as well, and that thirty was not such a very good age. "Why don't I do something special with your hair today because it's your birthday?"

Fiona gasped. "Will you, Auntie Elsie?"

"I will," Elsie murmured. "You must promise to be very careful and not lose the comb I'm going to use to put your hair up with. It was my mam's, and it's very important to me."

"I won't lose it, I promise," Fiona said, her small voice squeaking in excitement at the idea of having her hair up like a young lady.

Elsie retrieved the brown rubber hair comb from its hiding place, then began to wind Fiona's plait into a tight chignon at the back of her head. She secured it with the comb and pulled back. "All finished, love," she said with a small smile. "You look lovely."

"Daddy had a new dress made for me," Fiona announced. "It's beautiful, Auntie Elsie – it's pink with blue ribbons and a bow. I'm going to wear it to dinner tonight."

"I'm sure you'll look very beautiful," Elsie assured her softly.

"Are you coming down for dinner tonight?"

Elsie shook her head. "The doctor doesn't want me up yet," she said softly. "I hurt my head very badly, love."

Fiona frowned. "Will you help me put my new dress on, though?"

"Of course I will, darling girl," Elsie assured her gently. "And I wish I could come down with you."

"I better go wake them up or Mrs. Oren will be cross," Fiona said, bouncing out the door.

Elsie climbed back into bed and closed her eyes, wondering if something earth-shattering was supposed to happen once you became thirty. She didn't feel any wiser or any smarter, so as a practical woman, she supposed it only meant that you were another year closer to dying.

* * *

"Mrs. Hughes, I am Dr. Clarkson – I'll be taking over for Dr. Mitchell, since he has retired to Brighton for his health," the man said as he held up his hands in surrender. Elsie had seen the unfamiliar man entering her room, even though she knew to expect the doctor, and had backed herself into the corner, cowering. "Dr. Mitchell has told me what has happened to you, and I am sorry –"

She was shaking, seized with a primal fear she could not dispel, could not reason with. She opened her mouth and words tumbled out, but she had no control over them.

He responded in kind, in Gaelic, soothing her gently with promises and pretty words that settled her panic down to mere anxiety that she could fight. She'd not expected him to be a fellow Scot, and she found herself glad of that small favor.

"Will you come sit down, Mrs. Hughes?" Dr. Clarkson invited gently. "I promise, I only want to examine you so I may give you a general day you may be released back to work."

She nodded stiffly and moved to sit on the bed. Knowing that the doctor was coming, she had worn a basic shirtwaist and a skirt that were easily enough dealt with. She hated – loathed – that she must undress, be prodded and examined, and then told like a child that she either was or was not healthy enough to work again. She still felt so much shame about the scars on her body, the bruises that had not healed in the week since Mrs. Potter had attacked her. She was so ashamed of the fact that she had dreamed, more than once, of Mr. Carson kissing his way up her thigh and tracing the scabs that spelled out 'Sophie' with his tongue and fingertips.

Dr. Clarkson examined her gently, without emotion, and then allowed her to get dressed again. "I think, Mrs. Hughes, that – barring the obvious bruising on your face – you should be allowed to go back to work as soon as you feel physically capable of climbing the stairs."

"Tomorrow?" she inquired hopefully.

"Tomorrow would be a good start," Dr. Clarkson said with a smile. "While I am here… do you have any questions for me, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I do," she confessed. This man was so very different from the last doctor, who had prodded her and touched her in a way that made her question whether or not he was towing the line of impropriety. She felt almost… comfortable… with Dr. Clarkson. "Before I came to Yorkshire, I was married. We lost six bairns to stillbirth and three as wee babes to measles and influenza. I just… everyone assumes it's the mother's fault when a babe dies –"

"There are a lot of factors to take into consideration," Dr. Clarkson said gently. "Sometimes, partners are not well-suited for making bairns, and that will lead to stillbirth and miscarriages. Sometimes, there are things wrong with the babe itself. And sometimes, it just happens."

Elsie swallowed hard, and murmured, "My sister was born… funny. Mongoloid. Two of my bairns… they were the same. They were stillborn."

He nodded, understanding suddenly. "Mrs. Hughes, I'm sorry – those things do tend to run in families… but it is not your fault. There is nothing you could have done."

Her lips pursed together into a thin line and she tried so very hard not to cry. "If I were to… try to have another child, would it be more of the same?" she whispered.

"Possibly. With a different partner, things might be completely different –"

"My husband is dead," Elsie said, her words blunt, stunted. "Things would have to be much different at all for me to have another child."

"I see," Dr. Clarkson said. "Mrs. Hughes, there is no reason to think that things would not be entirely different with another partner. Especially if said partner already had children so you would know that they were capable of fathering hardy stock."

She hesitated, then nodded. "I am just turned thirty," she said quietly. "I cannot imagine my time to conceive children to be much longer."

"Most women go through the change of life in their late forties," Dr. Clarkson said. "You have plenty of time to decide, yet, Mrs. Hughes."

She inhaled deeply, then blushed. "I am sorry I needed to be so forward with you, Dr. Clarkson –"

"No, please, I would like you to be comfortable with bringing any problems to my attention, Mrs. Hughes. I plan to be in Downton for a long time, so knowing your history is important now."

"So I may go back to work tomorrow?" Elsie said, her voice full of hope.

"Yes," the doctor confirmed.

Neither of them noticed the door closing, as it had been opened a crack.

* * *

Charles stood in the corridor, Elsie's luncheon on a tray in his hands. He hadn't realized she was in with the doctor when Mrs. Oren had charged him with carrying up her food. He hadn't realized until it was too late and he'd overheard her telling the doctor about losing her children, and then he'd remained rooted to the spot, his heart clenching, breaking, for her as she asked if she might ever be able to have another child.

It wasn't fair; he had Fiona, who he had not asked for, never dreamed of having, and she had nothing. She, who would be an amazing, beautiful mother, had been punished beyond her means by having her children taken away by a vengeful god.

He finally managed to take a step back, close the door, hold his breath to compose himself.

When the doctor emerged from the room, Charles made it appear as though he'd just come to a stop in the hallway. "Dr. Clarkson," he greeted.

"Mr. Carson – while I'm here, did you still wish for me to look at Fiona's back?" Dr. Clarkson inquired. Charles had noticed that she had begun to have a more pronounced curvature to her spine and she spent a lot of time with her shoulders hunched. That would never do.

"Yes, that would be one thing off my mind," Charles said with a sad smile. "She's in the kitchen with Miss Patmore, baking bread."

Once the doctor was gone, Charles knocked on the door and waited.

"Come in."

The words were quiet, muffled by the door. He pushed the door open and said, "I'm afraid luncheon is nothing special today – just bread, cheese, and pickle."

"I wasn't expecting anything special," Mrs. Hughes said softly. "Thank you, Mr. Carson."

"Fiona asked me earlier when your birthday was – she wants to plan a big cake with Beryl…"

"Today," she said. "My birthday is today. I wouldn't dream of spoiling her big day by sharing. I've got a gift for her, though – it isn't much, but if you'd give it to her later at dinner…" She reached into her chest of drawers and pulled out a box that looked like it had come from Leighton & Meyers in Thirsk. "They are handkerchiefs with her initials on them so she won't lose them and come looking for mine," she said with a small smile.

"Mrs. Hughes, that is… that is very thoughtful of you," he said softly. "Not the giving up celebrating your birthday, but the gift –"

She smiled wanly. "It's the least I can do, Mr. Carson. I'll be back to work tomorrow, and moving into the housekeeper's room over the next few days."

He paused in setting down her tray. "You'll be leaving this room."

"Aye, Her Ladyship has already sent someone down to bring a larger bed into my new room," she said. "That way, we can move Miss Patmore into her own room, as befits the assistant cook."

"But Fiona –"

Elsie looked at him blankly, then said with much care in her tone, "Oh, Mr. Carson, you didn't think I would abandon Fiona, did you? Lord, no – that's why Her Ladyship has had the lads bring in a bigger bed. It makes no sense to have two small beds when Fiona ends up in mine as often as she does her own. I would never turn your daughter out, Mr. Carson. Maybe when she's older, I'll bring in a smaller bed, but for now… she's still young."

He was speechless, struck dumb with absolute love for the woman in front of him. Even with all of the chaos around them, even with her worries over her health, even with – even with – she still took the time to care so much about his daughter, who should have been the very least of her worries.

"Mr. Carson?" she questioned very softly. "Are you all right?"

He swallowed hard, licked his lips, exhaled. "Mrs. Hughes, I find myself quite… amazed by you."

"There is nothing amazing about me, Mr. Carson," she said.

He begged to differ on so many levels. The palms of his hands fairly itched with the longing to reach for her, to impart upon her just how much he begged to differ.

Without conscious thought, he did reach for her, taking her hand and squeezing it for a moment before drawing her closer. "Mr. Carson," she breathed; he could not tell if it was assent or condemnation, but he wanted to kiss her so badly he could barely breathe.

He abruptly released her hand and backed away from her. "Mrs. Hughes, I am sorry – that was –"

She closed the gap between them with two delicate steps and stood on her tiptoes, drawing him down for a kiss that made him weak in the knees. She took advantage of his shock, deepening the kiss, running her tongue against the length of his. He broke the kiss and nibbled on her lower lip, the one she worried all the bloody time, then pulled away completely.

"Happy birthday to me, Mr. Carson," she said very softly, almost wistfully.

He blinked. She had no idea how much he wanted her –

And all he could see was how much she wanted him in that moment.

"I'll leave you to your lunch," he croaked, retreating before things got out of control. Besides, he was needed in the drawing room; he never should have been in the attics this long.

"Mr. Carson," she called softly as he made to leave. He turned and looked at her. "Please be patient with me," she whispered. " _Please_."

He would wait; he had all the time in the world.

END PART NINE


	10. Chapter 10

Ten:  
A Light in the Darkness

Fiona enjoyed daddy allowing her to sit on his knee as they ate dinner. Auntie Beryl had been allowed to make dinner, and it was roasted potatoes and carrots with pork chops stuffed with walnuts and apples – all of Fiona's favorite things. She was excited for Auntie Elsie to enjoy such a good meal… and there was spice cake, too, topped with powdered sugar. Auntie Beryl was the best auntie in the world – Auntie Elsie was more like a mummy than an auntie.

She'd rather Auntie Elsie be her mummy than her auntie, but daddy and Auntie Elsie didn't really like each other much. She knew that because daddy got upset whenever she said she wanted Auntie Elsie to be her mummy now. And Auntie Elsie said that daddy didn't want another wife, so she couldn't be her mummy.

She didn't see why they were both so stubborn. Of course they would fall in love once they were together a bit, wouldn't they? Lots of people got married and then fell in love. Fiona didn't see why they didn't just get married and have done with it.

Auntie Beryl had given her a box of rhubarb sweeties, and Mrs. Oren gave her some ribbons for her hair. Daddy had given her a new dress – which was so pretty she could hardly believe it – and new shoes and stockings. Auntie Elsie gave her handkerchiefs – and she felt so happy for that because she was always losing them and borrowing Auntie Elsie's. Her new handkerchiefs were pink and had 'FAC' embroidered prettily in one corner in purple. She would never lose another one again. She couldn't wait to go upstairs and thank Auntie Elsie.

Daddy told her that there was another surprise – she would be packing and moving into a different room with Auntie Elsie, and that they would share a bed now.

That made Fiona so happy she might just burst from excitement. When she had a bad dream, she crawled into bed with Auntie Elsie, and it was always a very snug fit. Or when she felt bad. Or when she missed daddy and granny. Or… well, Auntie Elsie was warm and cuddly and she loved Fiona very much. That's why she wanted her to be her mummy now.

Fiona finished her cake and drank her milk before daddy sent her up to bed. He had to work, so she had to be a big girl and get ready for bed by herself and try to be good for Auntie Elsie. She carried her presents up to the attics, excited to share her good fortune with Auntie Elsie.

Her birthday was the happiest day of the year – except for Christmas.

* * *

She waited; she waited until everyone had gone to bed. Fiona was snoring softly, mumbling in her sleep. She could hear the quiet of the ladies' corridor and assumed that everyone was down. And then she crept down the hallway. The door that separated the men's section of the attics and the women's section was locked by the housekeeper at the end of the evening, and then she was to keep the key on her person.

With her having been laid up on doctor's orders, the key had been kept in the lock. Which is what she desperately needed now.

She unlocked the door and slipped through. Mr. Carson's door was the third on the right. Once he became butler, it would change to the first door on the left, but for now… third on the right. She opened the door and he startled awake. "Fiona?" he called softly.

"Shh, no, it's not Fiona," Elsie whispered.

There was confused silence, then, "Mrs. Hughes, let me put the candle on –"

"No, please don't," she murmured. "I couldn't bear you to see me right now."

"What on earth are you doing in here?"

For the first time since she'd had her insane thought – the one that refused to leave her, that made her heat from inside with such overwhelming passion that she might burst without him – she stopped and thought of just how madly she was behaving.

She was very quiet, then whispered, "I… I need you, Charles." She swallowed hard. "I _need_ you."

"Elsie," he murmured, "this will change everything – there will be no going back from this."

"Just please… tell me you don't hate me for what I've done."

He sounded confused. "What have you done that's so wrong, Elsie?"

"Too many things," she whispered. "But please forgive me –"

She heard him shifting on the bed, getting up, coming toward her. Then he was touching her gently in the dark, his hands finding her shoulder and her hip, pulling her closer. "I forgive you everything," he whispered. "Why now?"

"I ran out of patience," she murmured. "And tomorrow, everything changes."

"I could love you," he whispered.

"I could love you," she replied.

"We could… love one another." His voice was low, soft, gentle, in a timbre and pitch that made her insides flutter like a copse of butterflies taking flight.

" _Please_." It was the only thing she could think to say. She didn't want to beg, to plead, to open herself to ridicule and pain, but she was dizzy from the want and the temptation of having him so close.

"Elsie, there could be consequences."

"Suppose the world ends tomorrow?" she said. "Suppose Lord Grantham sells the estate. Suppose I run off with the milkman or I leave to take care of my sister – a child would be a welcome consequence, Charles. A very loved, welcome consequence."

"Elsie –"

"We both need each other," she murmured. In the darkness, she guided him down to her for a tender kiss. "We do. Now, in this moment, we need one another."

He relaxed a little, gave in finally. The kisses became intense, passionate. Elsie felt all the fire she'd held back, denied, welling up again. She could love this man, did love this man, this gentle giant with a heart of gold and a beautiful daughter. And her patience had run out long before she believed that it would.

They kissed and caressed, building up an intense fire between them before he even bothered to lead her to the bed. It was the same single bed that she had in her room – for the moment – and she despaired of them being able to fit. He kissed away her protests and gently maneuvered them onto their sides on the mattress, nightclothes long before having gone by the wayside. His eyes in the darkness were intense, and she refused to break eye contact with him; he lifted her leg over his hip and gently positioned himself to enter her.

The moment his thick hardness began to spread her, Elsie lost her ability to breathe. The intensity of feeling in her body centered in her groin and her eyes fluttered shut, her breath bottoming out to almost nothing as she bit her lip. He leaned in and kissed her, and she surprised herself by inhaling deeply and moaning into his mouth as he thrust into her one little bit at a time until his hips were flush with hers and she thought he could not possibly go any deeper. It was a delicious ache, feeling him nestled so tightly inside her, so deep, and she shifted her hips forward, wanting him impossibly deeper.

Their kisses now were deep, tender, passionate; as above, so below. He thrust gently into her, retreating, then coming back, building up a tender rhythm that mimicked their snogging. Her leg over his hip, keeping him close, their free hands twined together, a bastion of strength.

The buildup was slow but intense, and when she let go, she felt the world implode around her; everything became centered around her pleasure, the pinnacle that only she could reach. She gasped into his mouth, bucking against him as sparks of pleasure blinded her. He was right behind her, his grip on her hand tightening as he stilled, his hardness jerking repeatedly within her, sending her right back up to heaven as he twitched against her inner walls.

They were both slick with sweat and laughing softly as they broke the last kiss. "Oh," Elsie breathed, "Charles, we've been terribly naughty…"

"Speak for yourself," he whispered. "I've been a perfect gentleman."

She smiled and kissed him, murmuring, "Oh, you have… believe me, you have."

"And heaven forbid I don't continue that… Elsie Hughes, will you marry me?"

She inhaled sharply, very much aware that they were still together, his almost spent member still inside her. "Don't be daft," Elsie murmured. "We barely know one another."

"I won't be doing _that_ with anyone else," he uttered softly. "Not when I can have perfection in my arms any time I want –"

"I am not perfect," she whispered.

"To me, you are. You are perfect with all of your imperfections –"

"You daft, sweet man –"

"Let this be my birthday gift to you, Elsie. Marry me. Allow me to protect you like you protect my Fiona –"

She turned off her mind, all of the reasons she should say no, and instead breathed, "Yes – please, yes, Charles."

END PART TEN


	11. Chapter 11

Eleven:  
Secrets

 _October 1891_

It was finally decided that Fiona would go to the village school three days a week, and on the other days, she would train as a kitchen maid with her Auntie Beryl. His Lordship had agreed to the compromise when Elsie had suggested it, which is why she had gone into the meeting with Charles in the first place.

Elsie and Charles, of course, had gone into Ripon and been horribly improper, securing a marriage license and a civil service in one fell swoop on one of their half days. They still had not shared their good fortune with anyone – not even Fiona. The housekeeper and butler, married? It wasn't done. It just wasn't. And if their secret was discovered, they would both likely be out on their ears without reference and lord only knew how they would survive, then.

It didn't keep them apart, though. Elsie was the keeper of the keys, after all, and if she wanted to, she could come through the doorway and surprise her husband in the middle of the night.

He knew everything, now; about Mrs. Potter's abuse and Elsie's former life as a farmer's wife. She knew everything; how he had performed in a stage show, how he met Alice there and they had gone their separate ways from her sister and his former partner and had become very successful in their own right. How she had been looking so very much forward to the birth of their child, only to be carried away by Bright's Disease a day after Fiona's arrival.

She wanted to tell Fiona that she was her mummy now, but the little girl was only seven – she would tell everyone and then where would they be? So, instead, she gently directed the girl as if she were still Auntie Elsie, and wished for nothing more than to hear the name 'mummy' fall from the child's lips.

She lay with her head on Charles's chest, the rest of her body flush against him as she lay atop him. They'd not exactly been careful, but there were no signs of her being with child yet, either. She exhaled a sigh and kissed his chest. Their stolen moments together were fleeting, and she did not want to leave him; but it was nearly three in the morning and she needed to be back in her room with Fiona soon.

"I don't want to go," Elsie murmured.

"I don't want you to go."

"I have to; Fiona needs me," she sighed softly.

"I need you."

"Not the same way, love," she said, chuckling.

"Mmm," he mumbled disapprovingly. "I really don't want you to leave."

"I know," she murmured, kissing him gently on the lips. "I'm sorry."

He gently swatted her on the behind. "Oh, get away with you," he sighed. "And give our darling girl a kiss for me."

She smiled and rolled off of him, going in search of her nightdress in the dark. "I do love you, you know," Elsie said softly. "So very much, Charles."

He rose from bed and embraced her from behind, lowering his chin to her shoulder and kissing her neck. "I love you just as much," he whispered. "Now, go be there for our girl, Elsie, my darling."

"You sappy sod," she teased, turning in his arms to give him a kiss. "I'll see you at breakfast, my love."

"I wish we didn't have to –"

She silenced him with a touch of her fingertips. "If wishes were horses, love," Elsie murmured. "I'll see you at breakfast."

She retreated to her room, only to find Fiona up and dressed already, looking tired, scared, and beyond anxious. "Oh my goodness," Elsie gasped. "What are you doing up already?"

The little girl started to sob and rushed into Elsie's arms. " _Where were you_?" she asked accusingly. "I had a nightmare and I put the candle on and it burned out and I was too scared to find another one –"

"Oh, my darling girl, I'm so sorry," Elsie murmured, holding her close. "I'm sorry." Carefully maneuvering them, she got a fresh candle and got it into the spare candlestick. Once the room was bathed in meager light, she saw just how scared the child was, and how little sleep she'd gotten. Elsie flushed with guilt; she should have been there, not with Charles. Fiona had needed her, but she had been selfish and had taken a few stolen hours with him instead.

"Where were you? I was too scared to go look for you –"

"I couldn't sleep," Elsie lied, "so I went downstairs and tried to get some work done."

Fiona's chin wibbled and she whispered, "I needed you and you weren't here. I wish my mummy was here. I want my mummy… I want my daddy – I don't want you. _I don't want you_!"

"None of that," Elsie said softly. "Let me plait your hair so you can go wake the others –"

"You aren't my mummy," Fiona sobbed as Elsie struggled to fix the girl's messy hair. "My mummy would have been here – _I hate you_. I don't _want_ you to be my mummy no more."

Elsie tried not to take it personally; the girl was just overtired and emotionally irritable like her father. However, it still stung painfully.

"Fine," she ground out between clenched teeth. "But I'm still your auntie, and I'm still going to take care of you, darling girl…"

"Not if I tell my daddy you weren't there," Fiona said stubbornly through her tears. "He'll think you're a bad woman and he won't let me stay with a bad woman."

Elsie turned the girl around roughly and said, "Fiona Alice Carson, you will not tell stories or lie to your father. Do you understand me?"

"I _hate_ you," the little girl repeated furiously.

Elsie held her anger back once more. "I suppose you'll want to spend the night with Beryl tonight, then?" she said in a cold, disinterested tone.

"I never want to sleep here again!" the little girl threw out passionately before she all but ran out the door with the candle.

She didn't know why, but the child's outburst shook her to the core; Elsie fell into bed, crying into the second pillow as she clutched it tightly. There would be no more sleep for her that night.

* * *

 _November 1891_

She tried to pull the laces of her corset tighter, but her body protested and she exhaled weakly. She would never get into her dress at this rate – her new day dress had been made just exactly to her measurements in her corset and if she didn't get the last inch down, she'd never be able to fit into it. Damning herself for the extra helping at dinner last night, she gritted her teeth against the pain and yanked her laces as tightly as she could until she was short of breath and her belly strained against the fabric.

Ever since the argument between Elsie and Fiona, she had avoided Charles and the wee lass both. Fiona had begged her father to move into Beryl Patmore's room, and she ignored Elsie most studiously during the day. However, several nights had found the little girl sneaking into Elsie's room and then sneaking away again. She'd never been able to apologize to Fiona, and she felt so guilty about not being able to manage the child that she couldn't face Charles.

And adding insult to injury, she was always hungry, so she'd been sneaking food from the larder and now look where it got her…

She still couldn't fit into her dress. Elsie let out a cry of frustration and threw her hairbrush across the room in a fit of pique. Dear god, what was wrong with her –

Comprehension dawned when she looked in the mirror. "Oh my god," Elsie breathed, unable, unwilling, to hope, but instinctively knowing it was true. She had been looking at herself for weeks, denying the possibility that she could be with child, and yet –

She wore her old dress and moved with far more care, though there was a renewed spring to her step all day long.

She would have to tell Charles.

They would have to prepare for the future now.

She would have to speak to Lady Grantham.

Elsie stood outside Her Ladyship's dressing room, wringing her hands and very quietly mumbling to herself, rehearsing all the things she could say.

"Mrs. Hughes, is there something you'd like to tell me?" Lady Cora asked kindly, startling Elsie.

"I know we agreed there would be no secrets, m'lady, between us," Elsie stammered, "but –"

"But now things have changed and you have to tell me the truth," Lady Cora said, eyes twinkling. "Don't think I haven't noticed, Mrs. Hughes, how you and Mr. Carson behave with one another."

Elsie swallowed hard, knowing that she was about to be shown the door. "M'lady… I'm… I think I am – I'm with child."

"I know," Lady Cora said. "And it's Carson's child, isn't it?"

Elsie felt the blood drain from her face. "M'lady, please, don't take this away from him – he is a good butler, so very good at what he does; if anyone deserves to be punished, it should be me… "

"No one is being punished," Lady Cora said firmly. "Is he going to make an honest woman of you, Mrs. Hughes? Will he take care of you and your child?"

Elsie swallowed hard. "He already has, m'lady. We've been married since the end of July."

Cora's brow lifted in surprise. "Oh, Mrs. Hughes – _Mrs. Carson_ – I wish you would have told me…"

"We agreed to tell you and His Lordship if there was a child – or even the chance of one – but I didn't… we've been estranged as of late, and I wasn't thinking clearly –"

"Well, rest assured, Mrs. Hughes," Lady Cora said gently, "that you will not lose your position over this. Robert and I will have words. This house cannot run without you and Mr. Carson."

Elsie nodded and swallowed, knowing that despite what Her Ladyship said, it all came down to His Lordship, and he was mired, wallowing, in tradition. "I should get on, m'lady…"

"You said you've been estranged from Mr. Carson?" Lady Cora interrupted. "Whyever for?"

"I've fallen out of favor with Fiona," Elsie said softly as she left the dressing room as quickly as her feet could carry her.

She watched Charles and Fiona during dinner, feeling her heart clench painfully. Of course, she couldn't say anything; it was not her place in public. In private, she could scream and rail and cry, but at the dinner table, they were not a family: they were the butler, his daughter, and the housekeeper.

The secretkeeper.

And Dr. Clarkson had confirmed her secret, made it a truth.

She had to tell Charles.

But she felt so frightened, so overwhelmed…

What if the babe hated her as much as Fiona did now? How could she live with herself?

She pushed away her dinner plate, leaving over half of her meal untouched. Charles glanced over with concern. "Mrs. Hughes, do you feel all right?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Carson," she assured him. "But I do have work to be getting on with."

* * *

It was much later in the evening when he knocked on the door to her sitting room. "Mrs. Hughes, may I…?"

She nodded and gestured to the settee. "I am fine, Charles…"

"But Dr. Clarkson came today to see you –"

"At Her Ladyship's insistence," Elsie said. "I am really quite all right, Charles. These things happen; she wanted to make sure I didn't accidentally do myself or the bairn injury."

He was utterly silent for a moment, then it finally sank in what she was telling him. "Oh. _OH_. Elsie, love, why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"Because I was so worried about our sweet girl and upsetting you that I didn't even realize until this morning when I was going to war with my new dress that I'll never be able to wear now!" She bit her lip nervously, looking down at her hands.

He gently lifted her chin and smiled at her. "Mrs. Carson," Charles said, "you've just made me the happiest man alive. You do know that?"

She blushed and spluttered a little, but began to smile as he gave her a tender kiss.

END PART ELEVEN


	12. Chapter 12

Twelve:  
The Elephant in the Room

Charles waited patiently; His Lordship wanted to speak with him, and Mr. Kent was almost finished undressing him. He didn't want to be overbearing and intrude. It just wasn't done, even if you were summoned.

Finally, Mr. Kent came out of His Lordship's dressing room and said, "You can go in, Mr. Carson."

Charles swallowed hard, knowing that he was about to be held accountable for… something. He thought he probably knew what it was, but he didn't want to assume the worst when he could still hope for the best.

He stepped into the dressing room and said, "My lord, you asked to see me?"

"Did I ever," Lord Robert said. "Sit down, Carson. My wife has brought to my attention some rather serious allegations this evening –"

"Allegations, my lord?"

Lord Robert took a drink of his whiskey and made a bit of a face. "She says that Mrs. Hughes is with child," he commented dryly. "Of course, this will never do – between you and I, we will have to begin searching for a new housekeeper immediately. Cora, of course, thinks that I should allow her to stay on, but what kind of an example is that setting for the rest of the staff? And goodness only knows who the father is – have you noticed her being especially chummy with any of the men on staff, Carson?"

"My lord," Charles said, trying not to become angry, "if I knew anything about Mrs. Hughes's private life, I would not share it."

Lord Robert's lips pursed together into a thin line. "Cora also mentioned that you have needed some extra help with Fiona as of late, as she's decided that Mrs. Hughes is no longer her favorite."

"My lord, Miss Patmore willingly –"

"Carson, if you wanted your daughter out of your way so you and Mrs. Hughes could… fornicate… there are far less drastic measures than moving her into the assistant cook's room," Lord Robert said.

Charles spluttered, his face turning beet red. And yet, he found he could not deny the obviousness of His Lordship's statement. "My lord –"

"She told me everything, Carson."

"Everything? How does she know _everything_?" Charles challenged.

" _Mrs. Carson_ told her," Lord Robert shot back irritably. "It's not done, Charles. You know that. If you and Mrs. Hughes were not in charge, I would look more favorably on your… marriage. But as such, it's just not done. The housekeeper and the butler –"

"My mother –"

"Your mother was an exception to the rule, Carson, and you know it. She was beyond responsible and she did not become housekeeper until after your step-father had died."

"They kept their marriage secret," Charles ground out. "There was no reason that Elsie and I could not have been the same –"

"Aside from the very obvious fact that you bedded her a little **_too_** well and now there will be another little Carson underfoot downstairs," Lord Robert snapped. "I have been patient with you, Charles, because my mother expects it of me; I have given you every chance for promotion, every pay rise I can give you, because you excel at what you do. However, this is beyond the pale. How _dare_ you sneak around behind my back and take advantage of my generosity and kindness?"

Charles knew there was no way on earth this conversation would end well; he decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and he backed down. "My lord, if one of us must be punished, please let it be me," he said, looking down at his feet. "I knew better, and yet, I found myself unable to restrain myself. I love her, my lord, and if one of us must leave, it should be me."

His Lordship's fury seemed to cease right then. "She said something similar; that she should be the one punished rather than you. It seems that you and Mrs. Hughes are equally matched, Carson."

"My lord, I will leave Downton if you will it to be," Charles said.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is going to be to replace you and Mrs. Hughes? _God forbid_ ; I just needed to know if this was Cora's idea of a joke, or if you really feel something for the woman." Lord Robert had gone back to scowling. "I am not, however, pleased that you found it necessary to practice deception against me, Carson. You could have come to me and said that you and Mrs. Hughes had begun an illicit relationship. I would have explained to you how to prevent… unwelcome consequences."

Charles felt his anger rising again. "Our child is neither _unwelcome_ nor a _consequence_ ," he hissed. "He or she is very much _wanted_ and very much _loved_."

"But surely, you did not want to marry again – let alone because you had fathered another child."

His anger grew exponentially. "We married before the child was even thought of," Charles growled. "I care very deeply for Elsie, and she for me. This is not a marriage of convenience, nor was it brought about by circumstances of honor. We are in love, my lord, and I am sorry if you cannot understand that."

His Lordship sighed. "Carson… I don't know what we're going to do. I cannot condone your actions, but I cannot dismiss you from your post. Surely you must understand the position this puts me in."

"Please do not dismiss Mrs. Hughes," Charles repeated. "If anyone should be punished, let it be me. I have trod upon your generosity long enough –"

"Stop trying to be noble – it doesn't suit you." Lord Robert pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache coming on. "I don't suppose the scandal would sink Downton entirely, but it will tarnish the edges a bit."

"My lord, in my defense… I did **_try_** to behave the perfect gentleman."

"Dear merciful heavens, Carson, I don't need details."

* * *

Two days had passed since Elsie had spoken to Lady Grantham and Charles had spoken to Lord Grantham. Elsie was still paranoid, looking over her shoulder in fear that one toe out of line would lead to her being dismissed without reference, and then she would be out of a home, a family, and god knew her reputation would be utterly destroyed, even if she was married and a proper wife and all. She was nervous, skittish, and spent most of the day either snapping at people irritably, or locked up in her sitting room, crying.

Charles, dear man, didn't know what to do to help. He tried, lord love him, he tried… but he just kept making everything that much worse.

It seemed like the instant they knew about the baby, she really began showing. She couldn't bear to be confined in her corset, so she loosened the laces a bit more and let out a few of the darted seams in her day dress, trying to conceal as much as she could her changing figure. But it was going to be a losing battle – it was only a matter of time before she was round as the rubber ball Fiona was bouncing in the corridor and no amount of artistry would hide that.

"Mrs. Hughes," Charles said, poking his head in the open door of her sitting room, "Her Ladyship has asked for you to come upstairs to her parlor."

"Bloody hell," Elsie swore, more worried about the invitation and her suspicion than being rebuked for her language. "I'm in the middle of writing the last of the linen rota for next week –"

"I'm afraid she's rather insistent," Charles said. "Goodness knows, we don't want to upset Lord and Lady Grantham any more than we must, considering how kindly they are behaving in regard to _us_."

She huffed and got up from her chair, gently rubbing her belly through layers of fabric and corset. "Yes, I suppose you're right," Elsie sighed. "I feel like I swallowed a melon. I look dreadful. She's going to be lovely, as usual, and far more pregnant than I am, and it makes me feel very… badly."

"You are the most beautiful woman on earth," Charles said with a small smile, "and I don't care who hears me say it."

Fiona came to a stop behind her father, holding onto his leg. "Daddy, will you play with me for a minute?" she asked.

"For a minute," Charles agreed. "When Elsie comes back downstairs, maybe she can play with you more."

Fiona scowled. "I don't want to play with _her_."

"Charles, no," Elsie said gently, seeing that he was about to take Fiona aside and have a talk with her. "It's all right. I'll go upstairs and see Her Ladyship and you and Fiona can play."

"See, daddy? It will be okay if we play a bit," Fiona said with a wide smile, just for Charles.

She smiled sadly at Charles, then headed into the corridor, past him with barely more than a gentle touch of their fingers together to say _'I love you'._ She hurried up the stairwell, and made her way to Lady Cora's parlor.

"Oh, there you are," Lady Cora said with a smile. "I'd begun to think you'd ignored me."

"No, m'lady," Elsie said. "Did you want tea or –"

"Carson brought tea already," Lady Cora replied. "Will you come and sit for a moment? Dr. Clarkson is adamant that women with child should rest whenever possible; that it's good for the baby if we are not on our feet all the time." She smiled and reached for her teapot. "I'll be mother. It will do me good to wait on someone else for once."

"M'lady…"

"Mrs. Carson, I'd like to think we could be friends," Lady Cora said pointedly.

Elsie sighed. "Yes, m'lady," she finally agreed. She sank onto the settee; she would never admit it, but she was glad to get off of her feet. She'd felt swollen and uncomfortable all day and her relief was palpable.

"Now, I wanted to make sure that you know that Lord Grantham is not going to dismiss you – or Mr. Carson," Her Ladyship said with a small smile. "And we're looking into whether or not we can move you into a small apartment in the north wing – Robert is pissing and moaning about propriety, but when I reminded him that the butler and housekeeper can hardly be sent out to the cottages to live, he started seeing things my way." Her smile grew. "By the way, we've almost got the nursery finished for the new baby. Hopefully, it is a boy; I think it must be, with all the trouble it's causing me."

"I hope you have the son you long for," Elsie said, honestly. "He will be very much loved."

"Yes, but your apartment – do you take sugar, Mrs. Carson?"

"Oh, no, thank you," Elsie murmured. "Just a splash of milk, m'lady. And you mustn't think you should go to any trouble for Charles and me. We'll make do, same as we have."

"I want to make you more comfortable," Lady Cora said. "You'll still be close enough to the attics if something goes wrong, and you'll still be close to the family quarters to assist. But you'll have somewhere that's just for your family."

"M'lady, that's very kind," Elsie said, nearly in tears. "I – I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," Lady Cora advised, passing over a cup of tea. "Now, I took the liberty of sending Miss Abbott to Ripon on an errand for me yesterday. I asked for her to find ten yards of simple black muslin, and ten yards of black sateen, and all the accompaniments for two dresses. I think she did a lovely job; I know you worked very hard on your new dress, Elsie, and you must be shattered that you won't be able to wear it for ages. So I wanted to surprise you with more fabric and notions – every woman deserves to have something comfortable to wear when she's expanding." She proudly pulled out two boxes and showed them off for Elsie's benefit. "I hope you're not offended –"

"Oh, no, m'lady – the last thing in the world I am right now is offended," Elsie breathed, her fingertips stroking the fabric and ribbon and lace in the boxes. "I am not worthy of such fine fabrics…"

"Nonsense," Lady Cora said with a smile. "And, of course, you should need something lovely for church and trips into the village with Mr. Carson – so you must feel free to look through my dresses. I have so many from when I was pregnant with Mary that I think you would be comfortable in – and I have no need for them, so you may take whatever you wish."

"M'lady, you are too generous," Elsie breathed, near tears.

"Nonsense! As I said, we should be great friends, Mrs. Carson – and my son and your child will grow up together, so…"

Elsie smiled and murmured, "I will not forget such kindness, m'lady – you and Lord Grantham are too generous and kind by half."

"Have things improved at all with Fiona?"

"No."

"Maybe you should tell her that you've married her father."

"Maybe," Elsie hedged. "Or maybe that's a fool's errand; we still haven't told the downstairs staff yet."

"You'd better do that before someone guesses," Lady Cora warned.

"Miss Patmore has already guessed," Elsie admitted. "I called her a daft beggar and reminded her who looks after the key to the storeroom and she'd best not be on my bad side."

"Well, tell them the truth then," Lady Cora advised gently.

"I don't know if that's the best idea," Elsie sighed. "The young ones will think they can just… follow in our footsteps."

"Not if they know what's good for them," Lady Cora snapped. "I will not tolerate shenanigans and monkey business belowstairs, Mrs. Carson; and neither should you. What's done is done in regard to you and Mr. Carson; now we move forward." She shifted uncomfortably and rubbed her belly. "I'm sorry – my son is kicking up a fury."

Elsie smiled. "I can't wait to feel that," she admitted. "It's one of life's few true joys."

"Elsie," Lady Cora said, "you need to make up with Fiona. I can tell how upset you are that she's behaving the way she is."

Elsie shrugged dismissively. "She will do what she wants; after all, isn't she Charles Carson's daughter? _Pig-headed, stubborn_ _mule_ doesn't begin to describe it."

"Oh, but you love those pig-headed stubborn mules," Lady Cora said with a saucy grin and a wink.

"Aye," Elsie said, blushing. "I do."

END PART TWELVE


	13. Chapter 13

Thirteen:  
Stolen Seconds

 _December 1891_

Elsie walked home from the train station, her valise in hand. She had been gone two weeks; the telegram from Jessop House had advised that Becky had taken very ill, and she had immediately told Lady Cora and had been on the next train, not even pausing long enough to explain the situation to Charles. It had been dire, and had she tarried, the outcome could have been much worse.

Becky had had a mild heart attack – her heart was always much weaker because of her condition – and she had begged and pleaded for her sister to come. It wasn't until Elsie was there that she rested, stopped fighting the nurses and the doctor.

Elsie had sat at Becky's bedside the first night, writing a letter to Charles, apologizing for her hasty departure and reminding him that Fiona needed new pantalettes if he could find the time to send someone to Thirsk. She'd received a reply a few days later, and she felt heartened that he was not angry with her. She had not told him about Becky's condition, just that her sister was ill, and she felt guilty for having kept this from him, but she also felt she had no choice. Not when he needn't support her sister's care; Elsie had a perfectly good income.

A lie of omission was still an untruth, however, and it weighed heavy upon her conscience.

" _Sissy, you got a tummy," Becky had said one morning. "Too many berries?"_

 _Elsie smiled and shook her head. "No, my dearest… Sissy is going to have a baby," she said softly._

" _Like Sarah and Billy and Magda?" Becky asked, her eyes shining bright. "They were good babies, sissy – why'd they go to heaven?"_

" _Because mam needed them," Elsie murmured, stroking her younger sister's hair. "She's lonely, our mammy, and she called my bairns to her arms, to love them forever and ever, my dearest."_

" _She gonna take this one, too?"_

 _Elsie shook her head. "No, Becky, mammy is not going to take this little one – I won't let her," she said softly. "I wish you could meet my Charlie. He has a little girl named Fiona – she's seven, and you would love her very much."_

" _Will you bring her next time?" Becky asked._

" _I will," Elsie promised, even though she might not have meant it. The idea of spending so much money to bring her family to Lytham-St.-Anne's was ludicrous; especially when she hadn't even told Charles properly about Becky._

" _Good," Becky said with an easy smile. "I love you, Sissy."_

" _I love you, too, Becky, love," Elsie whispered, still stroking her sister's hair as she went to sleep._

She'd decided on the train that she needed to come clean to Fiona, to tell her the truth: she was married to her daddy and she was going to have a little brother or sister soon. That she was Fiona's mummy, as much as anyone could be without being Alice Carson. That the baby would never change the way she loved Fiona. That she loved Charles and would never leave him if she could help it. That she missed Fiona very much and loved her just as much as she missed cuddling with her in the middle of the night, missed braiding her hair in the wee hours of the morning, missed telling jokes and puns…

She was nearly back to Downton when she realized that her appearance would probably lead to tongues wagging; she was in a heavy cotton dress and a heavyweight woolen coat that was definitely tighter across her middle than when she had left. There was no doubt that she was pregnant now; she could only hope that Charles would have taken the initiative and told the staff while she was gone, so the inevitable teasing and gossip would mostly be over. Otherwise… it would provoke an _atmosphere_.

She had begun to wonder if she was carrying twins, or if she had conceived sooner than she'd believed, but she'd had normal courses… It was all very frightening and confusing, but she knew that with each bairn after her first – darling Joseph, who had been born too small to survive – her body had gotten larger earlier, so she could not gauge anything with precision even now. She could be eight weeks or she could be much further than that; there was no exact science to it, and even Dr. Clarkson was guessing as to dates.

Either way, walking home from the train station in the middle of Christmas week was a daunting task, and she found herself tiring very quickly. It wasn't snowing or sleeting, but the wind was bitterly cold, and she pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, trying to stave off the chill. She was only a half a mile away from the Abbey, close enough to see it, and that kept her moving. That and the knowledge that she would receive hot tea and would be able to luxuriate in front of a fire in her sitting room upon her arrival kept her going.

She had found the perfect Christmas gift for Fiona the day before when she'd been stopped in Leeds, waiting for the morning train to Downton; a beautiful small porcelain tea set, perfect for a young girl. It had been terribly expensive, but it would serve Fiona well into her adulthood – providing she cared for it properly – and Elsie had purchased it and had it shipped on the train. It would be arriving with the other parcels for the house later in the afternoon, and then she would have to hide it away until Christmas morning. She'd also bought Charles a new Sunday suit, dark brown herringbone wool, suitable for winter. His grey tweed was beginning to show its age and she wanted him to be comfortable and happy. And, against her better judgment and superstitious nature, she had also bought a christening gown. Her heart was full of terrified hope that this pregnancy would be different; she wanted it to be different so badly that she could taste it.

She opened the door to the servants' entrance and felt abrupt and sudden warmth against her skin; it felt like home and she welcomed it with unabashed enthusiasm. She took off her gloves and headed to the kitchens. "I don't suppose you've got time to warm some water?" Elsie inquired as she caught the attention of Mrs. Oren. "It's dreadfully cold outside and the walk was awful."

"Mrs. Carson, welcome back," Beryl greeted with a warm smile as she immediately took a kettle to the tap. "We weren't expecting you till tomorrow – "

"I caught this morning's train," Elsie replied with a smile. "Thank you both for handling things while I was gone."

"How is your sister?" Mrs. Oren asked. Elsie wasn't imagining the old cook's disapproving glare, nor the frostiness in her voice.

"She is much improved," Elsie said. "How is Her Ladyship?"

"She's been fretting," Beryl said with a frown. "Worrying about you, mainly – you'd think she wasn't about to have a baby of her own, the way she's been going on."

Elsie held back a smile. "I suppose I should let her know that I've returned, then – I assume Mr. Carson is up in the drawing room with His Lordship?"

"I'll send a footman up to fetch him," Mrs. Oren said. "I think you should know, and I've discussed this with Her Ladyship already, that I am leaving just after Christmas. I do not approve of you and Mr. Carson carrying on and it is not appropriate to me that you should be allowed to do so in the house such as it has become. I'm to go to the Dower House and take over the kitchens there."

Elsie nodded and frowned. "I am sorry that you do not approve," she said quietly, "and that you felt the need to take leave."

"Beryl will become head cook," Mrs. Oren said in a cold tone. "Which, I suppose, is what you wanted all along, isn't it?"

"No," Elsie said, honestly. "I never thought to –"

Mrs. Oren held up a hand. "I will not begrudge you and Mr. Carson your happiness, but I will not condone your behavior, either. In spite of the fact that everyone else seems to think you both walk on water."

Elsie nodded, holding out her hand as Mrs. Oren passed back her chatelaine. Elsie took off her coat and secured the clip to the high waistband of her dress. She was meant not to be seen now that she was far enough along to be seen, but she refused to care. And she would be out of uniform for the rest of the day; and did not really care about that either. "Where is Fiona?"

"She's reading in the library," Beryl spoke up. "She's very anxious to see you come home, Mrs. Carson."

"I'm sure she's cross with me for not having told her –"

"No," Beryl contradicted as she busied herself getting a pot of tea brewed, "she was very upset that you had left and was scared it was because she was so mean to you. She thought you weren't coming back and cried for two days before Char- Mr. Carson told her of course you were coming back. He took pity on her and told her that you two were married and you're her mummy now; she's been waiting for you to come home ever since then."

"I don't suppose he told her that we're expecting –"

"Mrs. Carson, to be fair, he didn't tell anyone that you're with child." Beryl gestured at her and made a bit of a face. "It's a bit obvious, though, to anyone with eyes in their face."

Elsie blushed as Beryl passed her a cup of tea and a biscuit. "Yes, well –"

"How soon till we have another little Carson to love?" Beryl asked with a kind, excited smile. "And please say I can be its godmother –"

"Oh, I think you must be," Elsie said with a small smile, "even if Her Ladyship insists on being godmother, as well – which she already is." She dropped her hand to her abdomen and murmured, "Doctor Clarkson thinks April or May."

"Well, that gives us time to prepare," Beryl said. "Eloise has been helping Mrs. Oren while you were gone, and she'll be perfect to take over during your confinement."

Elsie rolled her eyes and sighed. "We'll make plans later," she said. "Right now, I just want my cuppa and biscuit, and then I want to go see my family –"

"And your husband very much wants to see you," Charles boomed as he came into the kitchens. "You should have sent word you were coming home today, Elsie," he scolded, stopping short as he took in how she looked on her kitchen stool, still in her coat and hat, happily sipping away at her hot tea.

"The post office wasn't open when I left Leeds," she replied. "I missed yesterday's train by an hour, or I might have been home last night."

He took the last few steps, crossing over to her and gently took her hand, raising it to his lips. "I've missed you," he said.

Elsie smiled and winked at him. "And I you, but we should be professional," she murmured. "Beryl is hanging on our every word."

Charles cleared his throat and said, "The doctor came earlier; he believes that Her Ladyship will be delivered shortly after Christmas."

"Oh, that's good news," Elsie said. "I know she's been anxious."

"We all have," Charles replied, gently rubbing his thumb over her hand. "I should get back up to the drawing room. Her Ladyship is in her parlor if you'd like to go up. I think she'd be glad to know you're back."

"Oh, aye," Elsie murmured, "but not before I go see our darling girl." She looked at him pointedly and smiled. "I hear she has been very anxious for my return."

"She has missed you more than I have, if such a thing is possible," he admitted. "And in your absence, Her Ladyship took it upon herself to have us moved into the Lavender Suite. Fiona has a room she'll share with the baby when it's born, and we have our bedroom and a small sitting room besides."

Elsie leaned into him, smiling and inhaling deeply; she'd missed the scent of him, so warm, making her feel protected. He smelled of silver polish, hair pomade, sandalwood soap, and fougere cologne. She closed her eyes and murmured, "I will be sure to thank Her Ladyship."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then said, "I should get back before His Lordship questions where I've gone. But tonight, I intend to hold you close and not let go."

"Oh, I will definitely hold you to that, Mr. Carson," she agreed with a smug little smile on her lips. She was ever so glad to be home, and even gladder to be loved by such a man.

END PART THIRTEEN


	14. Chapter 14

Fourteen:  
A Breath of Hope

Elsie stood watching Fiona. She was seated on the seat of the library's bay window, focused on the children's book in her lap, and Elsie thought she'd never seen the girl look happier or lovelier. The front of her hair was up and the rest of the curly black locks trailed down her back – she supposed Charles had at least tried to do her hair in the mornings, so she should be glad that Fiona wasn't running around like a heathen. Her nose was still large like Charles's, too large for her face, but she nibbled on her lip as she concentrated on her book, and she was still quite charming. Elsie felt badly that Dr. Clarkson had recommended that the little girl begin wearing a corset immediately to help prevent her scoliosis from getting worse, because it would be a pain she would have to endure the rest of her life, but she was pleased that the child's posture was much improved in her absence.

"Your Auntie Beryl said I'd find you up here," Elsie said with a smile, drawing Fiona's attention up from her book.

Fiona immediately slammed her book closed and flew off the window seat with her excitement. "Mummy," she cried, flinging her arms around Elsie's legs and holding her tightly. "I missed you – I'm sorry – I didn't mean to –"

"Shh, I know," Elsie murmured, gently untangling the girl's curly hair with her fingers. "Goodness, what has your father done to your hair? Silly man doesn't know what he's doing. Well, we'll have you sorted first thing tomorrow –"

"I'm to help Auntie Beryl make the wassail and the Christmas biscuits," Fiona said. "She thinks I can make the biscuits myself; I've done it two times now and Her Ladyship said they were very nice. I'm sorry I was so mean, mummy, I just – why are you crying?"

"Because you're calling me mummy," Elsie said softly.

"Daddy said you got married, so that makes you my mummy now," Fiona stated plainly.

"But you were so cross with me, I wondered if –"

Fiona paused and looked at her. "I did need you, but daddy explained that he needed you, too, and that's why you weren't there. It happened lots of times and I thought you didn't love me anymore. He said you love me more than I know and that's got to be a lot because you love me _so much_."

"I do," Elsie said firmly. "But I need you to tell me when I do something that makes you feel badly, my darling girl, instead of running away and throwing a tantrum – all right, love?"

"Are you home to stay now?"

"Yes," Elsie murmured. "It's going to be Christmas in a few days, and I couldn't be away at Christmas, could I?"

"No – is your sister feeling better? Daddy said she took poorly and you had to go look after her."

"She's still very weak and very ill," Elsie said gently, "but she will get better with time. She asked about you, and I said we might try to come visit in the spring."

Fiona nodded and smiled. "After the baby comes?"

"Now, how do you know about that?" Elsie asked sternly. "Beryl said your father hadn't told you –"

"Lady Violet came to tea and I had to go up and see her," Fiona said cheerfully. "She wanted to see how much I've grown. Lady Cora told her that you and daddy were having a baby."

"Does it bother you?" Elsie asked worriedly.

Fiona paused, then shook her head. "You're a good mummy; I know you've got enough love for the baby and me."

Elsie was near tears. "I am so sorry, my darling girl, that I upset you," she said softly, hugging Fiona tightly. "I am. I never meant to hurt you."

"I know," Fiona said quietly. She looked at the clock and gasped. "I've got to go! Auntie Beryl and me are making scones for teatime."

"Go, then, love," Elsie said with a smile. "I'll be there tonight to tuck you in."

Fiona hugged her tightly again, then smiled up at her. "I love you, mummy."

"I love you, too, my sweet, darling girl," Elsie said. She gave Fiona a kiss and shooed her on her way.

* * *

Lady Cora was annoyed and in pain. She'd been having false labor pains for the last three days and her nerves were frayed to the point she was snapping at everyone. And hearing that Mrs. Carson had returned and had gone to the library to see Fiona rather than come upstairs and confer with her was doing nothing for her damaged calm.

Of course, she reasoned with herself, Mrs. Carson was well within her rights to want to greet her family and change clothes before she came up – however, it stood to reason that, as her employer, Cora's wishes should come first.

She was up and pacing restlessly when Mrs. Carson finally came into the parlor. "M'lady, I apologize," Mrs. Carson said. "I'm afraid I needed to see Fiona before I came upstairs."

Cora smiled wanly. "Of course," she said. "How was your trip? Is your sister better?"

"Becky is doing much better than she was," Mrs. Carson said, her voice low and soft. "The doctors believe she will make almost a full recovery, but she wasn't about to rest until I got there. I apologize for just… running like that."

"You'd best apologize to Mr. Carson," Cora warned. "He was not pleased to find out that you'd just run off like that. There was a lot of shouting – and several broken saucers. You do tend to unbalance him, dear." She inhaled deeply and moaned as another pain rippled down her back. It was worse than any of the others before had been, but it wasn't right to be a true labor pain yet.

"M'lady, maybe you should sit down," Mrs. Carson advised gently. She came closer, reached out and took Cora's arm to steady her. "You've gone very pale – how close are the pains now?"

"Six minutes," Cora dismissed. "I was up all night with pains up to three minutes apart and bloody nothing bloody happened. It was false labor."

Mrs. Carson frowned. "M'lady, I think we should send for the doctor, just in case –"

"Dr. Clarkson is sick of my face," Cora snapped. "And my lady bits, I'm sure."

"M'lady!"

"Well, it's true," Cora muttered, shaking Mrs. Carson off and pacing like a caged animal. Up one side of the room and down the other, quickly and furiously. "He's seen them often enough. He's been here every day. Twice yesterday." She paused in her pacing, hearing an odd little noise, then feeling like she'd wet herself. _Not again_ ; there had been numerous accidents in the last few days as the baby had all but destroyed her bladder.

Mrs. Carson was immediately back at her side. "M'lady, I'll ring for someone to come clean that up," she said gently, "and we'll send for the doctor immediately. You might want to –"

"I am not about to let you – or anyone else – tell me what to do right now!" Cora exclaimed as a new, fresh pain rippled across her belly. "Oh god – oh – I… I need the doctor."

Mrs. Carson rang the bell and came back to steer Cora gently back toward her bedroom. When a maid appeared in the doorway, Mrs. Carson said, "I need you to go tell Mr. Carson to send Kirkland for Dr. Clarkson immediately; Her Ladyship is having the baby and there is no time to waste. Tell Mrs. Oren to boil water and get some toweling boiled as soon as possible. We don't have a lot of time, and if there are any delays in the doctor getting here, I'm just as likely to deliver the poor wee bairn myself as anyone else."

"Oh, this wasn't supposed to happen," Cora groaned, gritting her teeth as she leaned heavily on Mrs. Carson. They staggered back to her bedroom and got her into a fresh nightdress and into bed.

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions," Mrs. Carson said gently. "Are you comfortable now?"

"Please tell me you're joking," Cora huffed. "It's not likely."

Mrs. Carson cracked a smile and rolled up her sleeves. "Lift your knees," she ordered. She looked under Cora's hem and made a face. "Aye, you daft woman, you should've sent for the doctor hours ago. It won't be long and then you'll be pushing."

Cora scowled at her, not liking her forward tone when she was absolutely miserable. "I suppose I'll be stuck with you, then," she muttered.

Mrs. Carson smiled. "My mam was a midwife," she said. "I helped deliver my sister when I was six. I've not forgotten how, m'lady."

Much later, the doctor finally arrived; Cora was miserable, having shouted and screamed and thrown things at the housekeeper and the head housemaid who were the only two souls brave enough to be in the room with her. Dr. Clarkson had cleaned his hands and spoken to Mrs. Carson in what she assumed was Gaelic, then he had examined her just as another fresh hell of pain began. "Lady Grantham, it's time to push," Dr. Clarkson ordered gruffly but kindly.

It took entirely too long; Cora could feel herself losing strength quickly. "Elsie, I need your hands – reach in and put your fingers between the neck and the cord… don't let it cut off the baby's air," Dr. Clarkson ordered. Cora felt more discomfort and shouted that she ** _didn't need a housekeeper's fingers up her twat_** , but Mrs. Carson's answering glare over her belly was rather formidable and Cora lost herself in a scream of agony.

Finally, blessed relief!

And sudden panic. "Why isn't it crying?" Cora demanded breathlessly. "Is it alive?"

"Aye," came Mrs. Carson's voice very firmly. "She is very much alive, m'lady."

 _She_.

Another painful contraction, then she breathed in relief as the doctor assured her it was over.

 _ **She**_.

Cora felt a keen disappointment; she'd thought for sure it was a boy this time. God, she wasn't sure she would be able to face Robert's disappointment again. He loved her and she loved him, but neither of them had any illusions that for the marriage to be considered an absolute success, there would have to be a son. She had saved the estate by tying her fortune to it, but now there must be a son.

Mrs. Carson brought a small bundle of linen over, a smile on her lips. "You have a beautiful daughter, Lady Grantham," she said softly, passing over the baby.

Cora looked down into the eyes of her second child and lost her heart completely. "Oh," she breathed, "my sweetheart, you are never second best – you are so lovely." She brushed back the stunning golden hair and pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "I love you."

Her very quiet baby girl looked up at her with unfocused eyes and Cora smiled.

* * *

Elsie got to their apartment just in time to plait Fiona's hair for the day. Charles was still in bed, snoring away, oblivious. She sent Fiona on her way and changed into her nightgown, vowing that she'd spend all day in the laundry, trying to remove the blood and viscera stains from her dress.

She'd never known there was so much blood involved; of course, she'd always been on the other end of things, as well, so now that she'd seen delivery through the doctor's eyes, it was an entirely different story. She was ever so glad that Charles wouldn't be in the room when she delivered. She didn't think that he would be able to stand that much blood.

She climbed into bed and snuggled up to Charles, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep almost immediately.

END PART FOURTEEN


	15. Chapter 15

Fifteen:  
Everything Changes

 _January, 1892_

"Come here and stop moving about so much," Elsie scolded gently, pulling Fiona back between her legs. "I'm trying to put your hair up but you keep pulling away and I can't bend over to get the pins, love."

"Sorry, mummy –"

"You do want to wear your hair up for the servants' ball, don't you?" Elsie asked.

"I'm so happy you're letting me come!" Fiona said.

"It's only for an hour," Elsie reminded her, "and then you must come upstairs and go to bed. Beryl will come up with you to put you to bed because your father and I have to stay downstairs, but she will have to come back, as well – so you must be on your best behavior."

"Yes, mummy," Fiona agreed gravely.

"There you two are," Charles said as he came into the apartment. "I've been waiting downstairs –"

"Someone is a bit excited and wouldn't settle so I could tidy her up," Elsie said pointedly, pointing at Fiona with a smirk and a wink. "And I had a twinge when I was getting changed, so I needed to sit down."

"Mummy almost fell over, daddy, her back hurt so bad," Fiona said.

"You go on downstairs and see Beryl," Charles said. "Let me take care of your mum." Fiona rolled her eyes and sighed, but skipped off excitedly. Try as they might, they could not get her to understand that she really must not run in the big house, or move any faster than a quick walk.

Charles came over and knelt on the floor, placing his hand between the chair backing and Elsie's back, gently rubbing. "Will you be all right?"

"I must be," Elsie sighed. "I'm to open the ball with His Lordship; it wouldn't do to collapse."

"You've been in pain for two days," he reminded her.

"Aye, but it will pass – it's just the bairn's growing and my body is protesting," Elsie said, waving her hand dismissively. "He was moving up a storm yesterday."

"He?" Charles questioned. She shrugged and smiled just a little. "All right… what about today?"

"Just a little," she murmured, "but I'm sure he will start again as soon as he hears the music."

"Promise you'll tell me if it happens again," Charles ordered gruffly. "I just worry –"

"Charlie, love," Elsie said, smiling a little, "you will know the instant it happens, if it happens again. I think the entire house will know; I'll be on the floor and crying like a wee lass."

"I am so sorry you're in pain –"

"Oh, enough of that, my darling man – it's not your fault," Elsie scolded, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Well, I mean, it is, but only in the vaguest sense of the fact that you got me with child in the first place. Don't you dare take more blame on your shoulders; now, help me up like a good boy and let's go down before someone sends a search party."

They took a slow, leisurely pace downstairs to the ballroom, giving Elsie a chance to not be entirely out of breath by the time they arrived. She was, however, feeling cold sweat around her hairline and breaking out on other parts of her body – which was unusual, and made her feel apprehensive. What if she was dancing with His Lordship and another twinge went through her back? What on earth would people say when she tumbled to the floor, taking Lord Robert with her?

She pushed her worry down into the pit of her stomach and felt rewarded by the faint kick against her ribs as the baby moved slightly. Her nerves were shot; she was constantly on edge now, worrying about the baby, worrying about Fiona, worrying about Charles and the household and –

And just for one night, she wanted to not worry about anything else.

* * *

Charles had been surreptitiously watching his wife through the crowd all evening. He was beyond worried about her; she had been feeling off for days, and today, she seemed even more so. She was tired, he knew, but she did not complain of any ailments save for her back.

She had scolded him already so many times for being a 'mother hen'.

She didn't realize that he needed her – not desired, not wanted – to be all right. His equilibrium was no longer his own; it was tied directly to hers. When she ailed, he did as well; when she thrived, he practically spun in giddy circles.

Right then, he was faltering. He knew she was hiding something from him, and he could not figure out what it was. He knew he needed to, but she was holding him at arm's length. It wasn't just her bloody beastly back, though he knew it was troubling her.

He was watching her dance with the head groomsman when it happened.

She went white as a sheet, a pained gasp carrying all the way over to Charles's ears. "Excuse me," Charles said softly to Beryl, abandoning her to cross the room. "Elsie –"

"Doctor Clarkson," Elsie ground out through clenched teeth. "Now. It's too early, Charlie – "

He stopped dead still in his tracks; oh god, no –

"Kirkland," he finally managed to choke out, getting the attention of the coachman. "Mrs. Carson has immediate need of Dr. Clarkson –"

"We'd better get you upstairs," Beryl said crossly, pushing past Charles and taking Elsie's arm. "Come on, now… upstairs and somewhere safe and quiet, Mrs. Carson." She glanced over her shoulder at Charles and said, "Get the kitchen maid to boil water and get towels, same as we did with Her Ladyship before Christmas."

He was sick with panic now; it was all his fault. He had pushed her and pushed her and they had made love with no thought at all – and now she was staring, square in the face, the potential probability of losing another child. He was a selfish monster…

He was saved by Lord Grantham shoving a rather large whiskey into his hand. "Drink this," Lord Robert said firmly. "You'll need it."

* * *

Everything was a blur of color and sound and pain. Elsie gave in, letting the undulating waves take her. She knew it was too early – far too early – for her to be in labor, but here she was again, on the doorstep of something beyond dreadful.

She focused enough to follow Beryl and Dr. Clarkson's instructions, but she could not bear to give in completely, to attach herself to the child that would inevitably be taken away from her in a few hours, put into a box in the ground…

She pushed and pushed, praying a broken litany of Gaelic prayers, begging a god she hardly believed in anymore to let her have her babe. And then the pain receded and she sobbed in relief when she heard a small mewl like a kitten's first cry.

"She is very, very small," Dr. Clarkson warned. "Tiny. She may only live a few hours, Mrs. Carson."

"Give her here," Elsie ordered, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying and begging. She was shocked to see just how small the bairn was, to feel how light she was: no more than a pound or two, if that. But she was hers, and she knew suddenly, for her to be that big, for her to be able to cry, she must have been conceived the first time she and Charles had come together.

But she was still too small, too early…

Elsie snuggled her tiny child to her breast, letting her hear her mother's beating heart, feel the warmth of her skin. She would do everything she could for her sweet, darling girl.

Joe had never let her hold the ones born too soon, even if they were alive when they were born. She knew he'd been trying to spare her the heartbreak, the pain… but this…

She needed this. She needed to hold the babe; she needed Charlie to hold their child. It was entirely different now.

This was the price she paid for love.

* * *

Mary Anne Carson lived two days.

But they were two days filled with joy and love for the wee tiny babe.

She was very much _wanted_.

And ever so much _loved_.

END PART FIFTEEN


	16. Chapter 16

Sixteen:  
Home Truths

 _March 1900_

Elsie curled up against Charles, humming a little as she snuggled into his embrace. "I want to go see Becky," she murmured. "She's been writing and asking for ages, but I've not had the time."

"Has she fallen ill again?" he asked.

Once a year, sometimes twice, Elsie was contacted by telegram to please hurry to Jessop House, and he never questioned it, just gave her the money for train tickets and a hotel room, and he sorted everything out with the Granthams in her absence. In October, it had been pneumonia, bad enough that Elsie had been terrified that her sister would not make it. She'd been away until mid-November and had come back to Downton absolutely shattered.

"No," Elsie murmured.

Nearly nine years of marriage, and she'd still not found the courage to tell him about Becky. They'd held each other through the best and worst of times; three babes lost, a minor fire that had destroyed the last of Alice's things and most of Elsie's, and Fiona's very trying change into a young woman… but she still could not bring herself to tell him about her sister. She supposed she was trying to protect Becky from the inevitable pointing fingers and jeering laughs – even though she did not for a moment believe her Charlie to be so cruel. But he did not tolerate things well that he did not understand.

"Then… shall we plan for a few days at the sea and take Fiona along?" he inquired.

"You'll be leaving for the season soon," she reminded him sadly.

"All the better to do it now," he rumbled. "The house will not collapse around our ears if we take a few days off."

"Charles… there's something I must tell you."

He paused, then said, "I thought that rubber cap was meant to prevent –"

"Oh, no, god no, I'm not pregnant," Elsie laughed. They'd sought Dr. Clarkson's advice after her last miscarriage, and he had suggested a new product – a rubber cap that fitted over a part inside her and prevented his seed from taking root – and the last two years, they had been scare-free. "I'm not," she insisted when he looked doubtful. "What I need to tell you concerns my sister."

"If you're going to tell me where your entire salary goes every year, I would be grateful," he teased gently. "So I know where to squirrel away my pennies for later."

Her mouth went dry; of course he knew of the monthly cheques she posted to Jessop House. They were in the chequebook ledger, after all. And with discreet inquiries, he might even have found out that Jessop House was a medical facility in Lytham-St.-Anne's that catered to women who needed constant, intimate care due to illness or deformity. But he had never pressed her, never once asked why she came to him for money rather than going to her own bank account.

She exhaled and murmured, "How much do you know?"

"That whatever is wrong with your sister, you pay for her care," Charles said softly. "Which is an honorable thing, my love…"

"The truth is, it's not honorable – it's just what needs done," Elsie sighed. "After my mam died, Joe and I looked after Becky on the farm. She helped me in the garden and getting the eggs from the chicken coop. When Joe died, I had to sell the farm and take whatever job I could find. Becky couldn't come with me to Downton, so I had to put her in a home with other women who… aren't quite right." She hedged for a moment, then finally said, "She was born Mongoloid. She's very smart, very caring, loves animals, but she doesn't understand what it means to be an adult – they said she wouldn't get older than twenty, that her heart would give out, that she wouldn't be able to fight diseases off…"

"That's why you run like the wind is on your heels when you get the telegrams," he said in a soft, understanding tone.

"She's my sister, and I promised mammy I would take care of her," Elsie whispered. "I promised, and I – I – I didn't want you to think she was your burden, as well, because she isn't."

"She's not a burden," Charles said. "She's your sister."

Elsie looked at him and melted at the look on his face. "Oh, my sweet man – you certainly know how to make me go all girly," she sighed.

"So we're going as a family, yes?" he said, nudging her.

"Oh, fine, all right – yes, we'll go as a family," she murmured. "She's been asking to meet you and Fiona for such a long time."

"I've wanted to meet your sister," he said with a grin. "It's a good excuse to get away, as well. I find myself wanting to throw the tin of silver polish at Mr. Granger more often than not as of late."

"Mr. Granger is a prat," she reminded him with an answering grin. "I would like to throw more than a tin of polish at him, but I will air out my airs and graces for your sake."

"Oh, thank you – at least one of us will be reasonable," he teased, rubbing her back through her nightdress. "Are you very tired?"

"Mmm, no, not very," she murmured, kissing his chest at the vee of his pajama top where skin and hair were exposed. "Not more so than usual," she amended, because 'no, not very' was a lie and they both knew it.

"Good," he said with a chuckle.

He still sent shivers down her spine with a single touch; and he knew just which touches drove her mad with wanton need. Thank god, else she'd have to be looking for another husband.

* * *

Elsie bit her lip nervously as they alit from the bus at the stop a few blocks from Jessop House. She'd taken the time to wear something nice, since they had arranged having tea with Becky and her roommate, Ava, and Becky always said that she liked to see Elsie's pretty dresses. She had encouraged Fiona to wear her favorite dress, as well, and hoped that things would go well.

It had taken a lot of explaining to Fiona just what exactly was 'the matter' with Becky, and Elsie still didn't know if her daughter really understood. Fiona probably thought that Becky was just slow; the reality of her thickened limbs, short, squat stature, and different features would probably startle the girl and frighten her. There were a million different reasons that the meeting could go badly, but she never once contemplated that Fiona would be cruel to Becky. It was inconceivable.

" _Mum, why doesn't Aunt Becky live with us?" Fiona had asked during the conversation._

" _Because," Elsie had murmured. "It's not that I haven't wanted her here, but… your daddy and I make our living here. If we were our own masters, believe you me, I would be cheerfully cleaning up after Becky as she makes her messes. But as such… goodness knows, it's hard enough to keep Lord Grantham thinking that you're worth boarding still."_

" _Well, he won't have to worry about that much longer," Fiona had sighed. "I'm fifteen, mum, and I don't want to be in service all my life. I want to be a teacher."_

And that had been that; a conversation simple and plain, a fleeting moment.

"It's right up there, on the corner," Elsie commented, pointing out the mansion. "There are nineteen patients, and twelve full-time carers. The doctors come when they're called, and there are maids and men who help move the ones who cannot move themselves."

"That is a lovely house," Charles commented.

"Oh, they have a lovely front garden!" Fiona cried excitedly.

"Becky likes daisies," Elsie said, holding up the bouquet of flowers she had procured from the vendor near the hotel. "They let her plant some every year."

Fiona stopped and bit her lip. "What if she doesn't like me?"

"What's not to like?" Charles asked – it was the exact reaction Elsie had had to his same question the night before when they were settling into the hotel.

"I just – I don't know –"

"My darling girl," Elsie said, taking Fiona's hand in hers and squeezing it, "Becky has wanted to meet you ever since I told her about you. Every time I see her, she asks about you; what did you get for your birthday? Did you like the Christmas present she sent you? Do you like pink or do you like yellow? She loves you so much and you've never met. She will just be happy you're here to see her."

"I don't want to disappoint her, and I don't want you to be mad if I do," Fiona admitted very quietly.

"Nonsense, my love," Elsie murmured, hugging Fiona tightly. "Everything will be all right."

"Maybe you should go in first and we can wait outside?" Charles suggested.

"Or how about not?" Elsie shot back. "We're a family; we're Becky's family. We go in together or not at all." She grabbed her husband's hand and held it tightly. "Come on, you."

They went inside and checked in with the on-duty nurse, who led them into the play room with a smile. "Becky's been talking for days about how you are coming to visit," Nurse Simmons said. "She's so excited, she didn't eat breakfast this morning, and Ava wants to show you the kitten they found in the roses last week."

Elsie stepped through the doorway on Charles's arm; she didn't expect, honestly, to hear a shriek of, "SISSY!" just before Becky tackled her in excitement, sending both her and Charles to the floor. Fiona took a step back and managed just to stumble, but Charles ended up flat on his back with Elsie half sprawled on him, half on the floor, with Becky in her arms.

"Oh my goodness, my dearest!" Elsie gasped. "What have I told you about being gentle?"

"I'm sorry, sissy," Becky said contritely, but with the biggest smile known to man on her face. "I missed you! I got so 'cited waiting for you – we're gonna have tea and I'm not sick, so we can go play!"

"Well," Elsie said, stroking Becky's back to calm her, "I missed you, too, my dearest – but Sissy's sitting on her bum on the floor, and not only that, Sissy's a bit fat to be sitting on Charlie. Can you let us get up, my dearest?"

Becky blinked and gasped. "Charlie? You brought Charlie? Charlie came to see me?"

"Aye, my dearest," Elsie murmured. "Can you get up without help?" Becky nodded and scrambled to her feet. She held out a hand and helped Elsie up – mostly superficially, because her strength was not good in her arms – and Elsie brushed off her coat before she aided Charles in getting up. "Becky, love, this is my Charlie – Mr. Carson," she introduced gently.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Miss Becky," Charles said, bowing at the waist to her. He looked startled when Becky catapulted into his embrace. "Oh my –"

"Sissy says you're a teddy bear," Becky said, smiling up at him with utter adoration. "You're cuddly, Charlie."

The look on Charles's face was enough to set both Fiona and Elsie to laughing hysterically. Becky joined in, giggling like a toddler who's discovered that the word 'poop' is funny.

When their mirth calmed a little, Elsie wiped tears of laughter from her eyes and said, "Becky, my dearest love, do you remember I've told you about Fiona?" Becky nodded vigorously. "Turn around, sweetheart, and say hello to her."

Becky held her breath like she dared not hope her wildest wish had come true; that Fiona was really there. She turned around slowly and her eyes went wide as she looked at Fiona. "You're Fiona?" she asked very loudly. Fiona nodded and bit her lip like Elsie knew she did when she was nervous. "You're so pretty!" Becky announced. "Sissy said you were beautiful and so nice and you like kitties – Ava and me found a kitty. Her name is Boots. Wanna come see Boots, Fiona? I love her very much. I want you to love her, too – she sleeps with me at night. Come on, Fiona – come on!" Becky grabbed Fiona's hand and dragged her off.

"Should we…?" Charles asked, gesturing.

Elsie shook her head and smiled. "No, let's let them get to know each other while we talk to the doctor," she said softly. "The per-month fee is going up again."

"Again?" he asked with a sigh.

She nodded and frowned. "I suppose we should be glad we don't have another mouth to feed," Elsie admitted quietly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean –"

"No, I know you didn't, but it is the truth," Charles said gently, holding her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. "I love you, Elsie Hughes. And I love your Becky, too. Even if I've got dust on my trousers now."

"Oh, heaven forbid you get dust on any part of your person," Elsie scoffed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I love you, too, you daft beggar."

END PART SIXTEEN


	17. Chapter 17

Seventeen:  
Family

"I love Fiona," Becky announced at the tea table.

"And I love you, Aunt Becky," Fiona replied with a little smile as she passed over the little tray of sandwiches. "Did you remember to put tea in your cup before the milk?"

Becky looked at her, bewildered. "I don't like tea," she said with no small amount of confusion. "Sissy, did you put tea in my milk?"

"No, my dearest," Elsie assured her gently. "Just milk and a bit of honey, just like on the farm, love." She stirred Becky's 'tea' for her and took a sip to test it to make sure it was right. "Oh, that's perfect, lass – just how you like it."

Becky's panic subsided and she happily took her cup. "Ava, Sissy will make you tea, too –"

Ava, a tall, gaunt woman who was nearing sixty if she was a day, smiled with all the joy of a child. She was slow in the head and had a withered arm; Elsie had always found her to be sweet and charming, and she was Becky's dearest friend at Jessop House. "Yes, please," she chirped. "You 'member how, Sissy?"

"I do," Elsie replied with a small smile of her own. Ava liked her tea black with honey, an easy enough order. Elsie poured for her and passed it over, then poured for Fiona and Charles. She had learned from an early age to remember how everyone took their cup of tea, in case she needed the knowledge in the future. She barely remembered how to make her own, most days, because Charles did it for her – or Beryl did it – or Fiona did it.

Charles gently took the pot from her hands and deftly poured her a strong, black cup. She knew it wasn't what he usually gave her, but he knew her moods better than she did, and clearly, she was in need of fortification.

"Sissy," Ava said, "I like your family."

"Thank you, Ava," Elsie replied with a smile. "I like my family, too."

"They my family now?" Becky asked.

"We are," Charles spoke up. He had been very quiet all afternoon, taking everything in and processing it without comment. Elsie was a bit worried; whenever he was this quiet, it usually meant he disapproved. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel that way, to feel that she had pressured him into taking on this burden that was hers alone.

Becky grinned. "Good; you're _my_ Charlie now. You can be my teddy bear."

Elsie's eyes widened; the absolute _**cheek**_ of her sister! "Rebecca Anne Hughes," she said warningly, "Mr. Carson is not _yours_."

Becky pouted and whined, "But _Sissy_ … you can't have _everybody_!"

Elsie rolled her eyes. "I don't have _everyone_ ," she sighed.

"Yeah huh," Becky said. "You've got Joe and Charlie and me and Ava and Fiona and – and – and…" She paused and her voice rose to a higher-pitch. "And your baby!"

"Mum doesn't have a baby," Fiona spoke up gently.

"She does!" Becky insisted stubbornly.

"I really don't, my dear heart," Elsie said, reaching over to take Becky's hand. "Charlie and I have stopped trying to have a baby."

"You _**do**_ ," Becky said, starting to cry. "Mammy told me so!"

"Dearest," Elsie reasoned, "mammy couldn't have told you anything: she died a long time ago, remember? When you came to live with Joe and me on the farm? You were fourteen and I was twenty and –"

Becky sniffled an ugly snort; she was completely undignified, and Elsie watched Charles flinch, but otherwise, he didn't react. He was much the same way with Lady Mary when she had her ugly cries, and he was definitely more so with Fiona when she had her tantrums. He would hold his tongue, thank god. "And you bought me a hen and a rooster," Becky mumbled. "I 'member, Sissy. I was very sad 'cause mammy couldn't come."

"You see?" Elsie murmured. "Mammy couldn't have told you anything, my dearest."

"But she did," Becky sighed, swiping at her eyes and her runny nose.

Ava frowned. "Are you calling Becky a liar, Sissy? That's not nice."

Charles held up a hand. "No one is calling anyone names," he said gently. "Elsie is just saying that maybe Becky –"

"MAMMY TOLD ME SO IN MY DREAMS," Becky shouted with fury, slamming her fist onto the table and making it shake; tea and flavored milk sloshed all over the table.

Elsie had dealt with tantrums like this on a daily basis for years; she did not flinch, nor move away, but Charles and Fiona both leapt back, upsetting their chairs. "Rebecca," Elsie said, her tone very stern and yet full of love, "you will calm yourself or we will leave now and we will not come back to take you to the seaside tomorrow."

"But – but mammy – mammy said you're gonna have a baby girl named Rebecca Grace… because you wanna name her after me and Charlie's mummy," Becky said brokenly, her fury replaced with disappointment so thick it could have been sliced with a knife.

That gave Elsie pause. "What?" she said, biting her lip nervously. As with all things, she was skeptical until proof was put before her, but Becky had been blessed with what the village had called 'second sight', and despite her failings, she _**knew**_ things. "Who told you Charlie's mammy's name, Becky?"

"Mammy did," Becky said, hanging her head. "Sissy, please don't be mad at me – I don't want you to be cross. _**Please**_."

"I'm not cross," Elsie lied, reaching for her teacup. "I just…"

"Mammy said you always knew the others would go to her," Becky mumbled. "But Gracie is gonna be special. 'Cause she's your heart, Sissy."

Elsie felt all of the blood drain from her face; she was dizzy, light-headed, blood pounding in her ears. Charles reached for her, and she managed to blink, to breathe again. "Oh my word," she whispered.

Years before, when she had lost Joseph Jr., her mother had come down with Becky in tow, to help Elsie get back on her feet. She had been in bed for several weeks after, not having the energy or strength to get up and go back to work; Joe had screamed and shouted and berated her for her untidy appearance, her unwashed hair, her sallow skin. And then mam had come and helped her up, washed her, sung to her, whispered assurances to her…

And one of the things she'd said was that every child was like a piece of you; but one day, one of them would be your heart and soul, personified. No matter what came before, that was the most important thing to remember.

Elsie frantically counted backward in her head and bit her lip.

It couldn't be.

They'd been so careful.

Oh god.

With the exception of one night, when she'd woken up in the middle of them making love –

Oh god.

How could she have –

Charles reached over and gently touched her hand. "Elsie, love, I know you're upset…"

"I'm not upset," she said. Her voice was wavering, shaking. "I'm bloody pregnant. Oh god. I'm – I'm – _Charles_ , what are we going to do?"

Fiona's eyes widened and she cleared her throat. "Becky, Ava, maybe we should go make sure that Boots has her supper?" she suggested.

The three children (for really, they were) headed off, leaving Elsie and Charles to sit at the table.

"How did you leap straight to –" he began.

She cut him off. "I've not had a course for three months. My corset is too tight. I can't stand the smell of eggs and I've been throwing them up after breakfast. I just thought – I don't know what I was thinking. Charles… I'm definitely –"

He held her hand; she closed her eyes, relishing the touch.

It could be the worst possible thing to happen to them. Another round of paralyzing fear that a vengeful god would take their child away before he or she could really begin. Another painful waiting game. The idea of Elsie not working was insane.

She hesitated, then curled her fingers around his and held on for dear life.

END PART SEVENTEEN


	18. Chapter 18

Eighteen:  
Extrapolation

Charles didn't know what to do. Elsie had cried almost the whole trip back to Downton; he felt terribly bad for her, for her position, for their positions, for, well, everything. He was worried about her, scared deep in his gut that something would happen to her this time, rather than the baby. The baby was still an abstract concept to him, and he felt rather peevish that she'd kept from him that there was a remote possibility that she might have been pregnant.

How it happened, he had no earthly idea. God knew she always stopped him and made sure she put the little rubber… _thing_ … inside her before he was allowed to continue. He never kissed her intimately after she'd inserted the device; she didn't _taste_ the same way after. He missed the days of being carefree… of loving and being loved in return with no strings attached.

Instead, now, everything had been about preventing the inevitable to the exclusion of, well… normalcy. It never once occurred to her that he might have wanted to try one more time earlier – before they had both gotten older… but now, they were both aging and bringing a child into the world was irresponsible…

God only knew if the baby would survive at all. Elsie had lost so many children already, and he only had Fiona to his name. He almost half-heartedly wished for it to all go away. But his wife, his love, wanted a child of her own so badly that she'd become obsessed with the idea.

He merely wanted her to be happy; for their family to be happy. He had given up on so many of his hopes, his dreams, his wants, only to pursue what really mattered. He had Fiona, he had Elsie – what else did he need?

The answer was simple: _**he**_ didn't need anything else.

So he leant his shoulder (and his broad chest) to his weeping wife and worried daughter. For when Elsie behaved this way, Fiona fretted. God knew he couldn't console them both if they went sobbing at the same time.

He wanted everything to be all right, for some hint of normalcy. He didn't want Fiona to fret and he didn't want Elsie to cry. He wanted something, anything to go well… according to a plan. They had planned to have a child earlier in their marriage; that had fallen through. They had planned a good life together; that was still in the cards, but if she lost the baby or if, god forbid, she died…

Charles Carson hated when a good plan went to waste, rack, and ruin.

They were met at the station by one of the stable lads driving the governess's cart. The drive back to Downton was silent, save the occasional sniffle from Elsie, or a shuffling from Fiona as she moved slightly. Charles couldn't bring himself to break the silence, either.

They pulled 'round back to the servants' entrance, and he helped his wife and daughter out of the carriage. "I'll take our things upstairs," he said softly.

"You'll do no such thing, Mr. Carson," Elsie said firmly. "We have footmen for a reason."

"I'll take my own bag," Fiona spoke up softly. "I'd like to go see Aunt Beryl."

"Just allow me to –"

"I've got your bags, Mr. Carson," said Peter, one of the footmen. He winked at Elsie and Fiona, earning him a glower of disapproval from Charles. He was less than pleased with Peter's work ethic as of late. He was rather lazy and fond of shirking his duties to run off and play the piano in the servants' hall; one day, Charles would have to put the fear of god into him, but today was clearly not that day.

"I should go tell Her Ladyship that we've returned," Elsie said, shrugging away from Charles. He felt helpless as he watched her go inside.

"What did I do?" Charles asked Fiona, sighing in frustration.

"You didn't do anything, daddy," Fiona murmured, touching his hand to reassure him. "She's just upset and out of sorts. I'm going to go see Aunt Beryl and unpack my things."

"Are you cross with me, too?" Charles asked, frowning.

"No, I'm just tired," Fiona said.

"And how do you feel about…?"

Fiona shrugged. "I'm not nearly as against it as you seem to be."

He spluttered. "I am not against it –"

"Could've fooled me," Fiona said, "the way you jumped down her throat – in public, even. It's not as though I live in a sack, daddy; I know how babies come about and I know it's not just the woman's problem, so you might do well to remember that the next time you want to tell my mum that it's all her fault she's with child." She flounced, turning on her heel and heading inside.

He felt an utter fool; a ridiculous, old fool with delusions of adequacy.

* * *

"Oh, good, you're back!" Lady Cora said excitedly, bidding Elsie to sit down. "Mrs. Patmore said you would be taking the morning train from Leeds, but you might not get back today – how was your visit?"

"Fine, m'lady," Elsie said softly. "We were all well-met, my sister and my family." She paused, biting her lip before she could stop it from happening. Truth told, she was nervous and nauseated; she had cried for most of the train journey after Charles had snapped at her on the street in Leeds the night before. It made her sick to think that, after everything, he didn't want another child; he didn't want _her_ as much as he claimed, either, because he'd held back so much on the return trip. She hated herself for wanting him so bloody much when he couldn't be bothered to return the favor.

"Is there a problem, Mrs. Carson?" Lady Cora asked gently. "You seem to be out of sorts –"

"Mr. Carson and I had an argument last evening," she mumbled. "I'm sorry, m'lady."

"What on earth were you two arguing over?" Lady Cora asked, raising an eyebrow. "God knows I hate it when you two get into your tizzies –"

"It's nothing," Elsie dismissed quietly. "I was thinking whilst you and the girls are away for the season…"

"Oh, you don't know then?" Lady Cora asked with a smile. "We are staying at Downton this season. Dr. Clarkson says I shouldn't travel in my condition, let alone be going to so many balls…"

Elsie bit her lip again. "You're… with child, m'lady?"

"I am," Lady Cora confirmed. "I've written to Robert to tell him; of course, he left me with such a lovely going away present on the eve of his regiment heading off to the war…"

Elsie frowned and mumbled, "I don't know how we'll manage, m'lady."

"Oh, come now, Mrs. Carson, it's not so dismal as all that –"

"I'm with child, m'lady," Elsie whispered. "And my husband doesn't want the babe or me. I might as well just hand you my notice and leave before –"

"Nonsense," Lady Cora said, leaning over and taking Elsie's hand in hers. "Mrs. Carson, how many times have we called you the patron saint of belowstairs? Why do you think? You keep that bear of a butler in line."

Elsie choked out a sob and couldn't meet Lady Cora's gaze. "M'lady…"

"Of course he wants you… and the babe," Lady Cora said gently. "I don't suppose you've seen the doctor yet – I should send someone to fetch him."

"M'lady," Elsie murmured, "you cannot keep me on. Dr. Clarkson will insist on me putting my feet up and resting; I cannot do my job that way. And god knows if the bairn will even survive –"

"Well, I'm certainly not giving you the sack," Lady Cora huffed. "You are my friend, Elsie Carson, and we're in this madness together, aren't we?"

"He says it's my fault I got pregnant again," Elsie mumbled, swiping at the tears that were beginning to gather in her eyes. "I suppose it is; I didn't exactly stop him from pawing me like a great bear, did I? But regardless, what's done is done. I don't want to leave Downton, but if I cannot work, I don't have much choice – I have to find a way to earn money for my sister's upkeep."

"You are spouting a whole lot of nonsense," Lady Cora said in a tone that booked no argument. "Of course you'll stay at Downton – whyever would I make you leave? You'll take the time that you need to rest and keep that child safely in your womb, and that's that. You will, of course, be paid your full salary: there's no need for Robert to get any notes from Murray, questioning my running of the household. It's the last thing he needs, seeing as how he's so far away."

"South Africa must feel like the other side of the universe," Elsie said with a frown. "God knows, last night, the other side of the bed felt like it was a million miles away –"

"Make up with your husband," Lady Cora said softly. "Whatever he said yesterday, he didn't mean. Carson is not intentionally cruel to you. He's frightened; after your last miscarriage, when Dr. Clarkson told him you almost bled out, he vowed not to hurt you like that ever again. He's terrified, Elsie."

"Maybe it would be better for everyone if I just left –"

"Are you mad?" Lady Cora said, her voice cold, cutting. "Have you lost your mind, Mrs. Carson?"

"M'lady, I cannot – I will not – subject you or the household to this," Elsie said very quietly. "You deserve a housekeeper who can do her job well and thoroughly; I won't be that woman for some time."

"You're just going to… what, then? How will you take care of yourself? Of the child?"

Elsie stifled a sarcastic laugh; the child didn't matter. The child would be the breaking point. And when it died…

"Does it matter?" she whispered.

Lady Cora bit her lip, frowning. "Elsie, at least let me give you some money."

"M'lady –"

"If you feel you must leave, please, let me give you enough money to see you through till the baby is born," Lady Cora said. "I don't understand, but please let me help."

Elsie paused, nodding, as her face crumpled, her will dissolved, and her heart shattered into a million pained pieces. She could not, would not, expose anyone to this again; even she didn't want to hurt herself. God, please –

"And your sister's care – write down how much and I'll pay it to them in a lump sum," Lady Cora said gently. "Elsie, I promise –"

Elsie got to her feet and smiled sadly. "I am sorry, m'lady."

"You are always welcome at Downton," Lady Cora murmured. "Always."

* * *

 _October 1900_

"We're almost there, Elsie, love… just a couple more pushes, and your bairn will be out in the world –"

Elsie sobbed in agony, trying to gather her wits together long enough to push. She wanted Charlie; she needed him with her, had done for ages, but the idea of confessing that she'd been a self-righteous banshee with her head up her arse did not sit well on her stomach. "I need Charlie," she panted, groaning and crying out painfully.

"You should've thought about that earlier," her cousin Merrie scolded gently. "I've got no time to send off a telegram now, Mrs. Carson – here we go… you need to push, lovey." Merrie was a midwife, a good one, and she'd trained as a nurse years before; she'd been a teenager during the Crimean War, and had gone to the front.

Elsie pulled it together and pushed until she felt blessed relief, heard the squalling of a very unhappy baby. "Merrie –"

"Oh, aye, look at those beautiful eyes," Merrie said with a smile. "Lass, your daughter is as beautiful a bairn as I've ever seen – and so healthy."

Elsie felt a sob well up in her throat. God, what would Charles think… what would Charlie say if he was there? He would be so angry she'd risked her life to bring another baby into the world; that's why they had fought so intensely in the first place. That was why she had left.

He couldn't have changed his mind now, could he?

He was still Charles Carson, and he did not like change.

He did not like to be in a situation where he was not in control.

Elsie could not fathom a way to give him any control at all, now.

Not with the tiny bundle of beautiful baby in her arms and tears rolling down her cheeks. "Rebecca Grace Carson," she whispered, stroking her daughter's cheek, "you are very much _wanted_ and ever so much _loved_."

END PART EIGHTEEN


	19. Chapter 19

Nineteen:  
Love is Precious

 _December 1900_

Scotland was far colder than England, especially near the sea, Fiona found out the hard way. Her woolen coat wasn't nearly warm enough to keep out the chill, and she wished she'd taken some of her mum's things for the journey. By the time she reached Ellenabeich, she'd been near frozen through. Now she was standing in the village square, wondering what on earth she'd been thinking.

It was bad enough that she'd had old men leering at her on the train, then on the coach, but before that, she'd almost been robbed in York – until she'd put the fear of god into a little boy who had had his hand in her coat pocket. Bad enough she was going to go to prison from stealing from her father if he found out where she'd gone – she'd gone rifling through the box he used to save money for the cottage he wanted to buy when he retired to take her fare for the train and the coach and enough to bring mum home – no need for some other kid to get caught, too. She'd boxed his ears and sent him on his way, thinking how lucky she was to have parents at all.

She felt a flutter of anxious apprehension in the pit of her belly; what if her mum didn't want to see her? After all, she'd run away without even leaving a note. Daddy had refused to go after her, stubbornly stating that if she loved them at all, she would come back of her own accord. The days had stretched into weeks and months, and Fiona had tried to hide her heartbreak; she'd thrown herself into her schoolwork, coming out the top of her class with honors and Lady Cora's promise to underwrite her teacher's certificate come April when those classes began, and she'd thrown herself into her cooking, giving Aunt Beryl something to be proud of.

And that was why she was here, now, freezing the nipples off her bosom. Because her father had given her an ultimatum.

He could not continue to expect Lord and Lady Grantham to support Fiona as they had been over the years. She needed to make a choice; she was sixteen years old and she had three possible futures ahead of her. One, she would continue on with her studies and get her teacher's certificate, and teach in a village school somewhere. Two, she would accept a position as assistant cook at Downton or cook at the Dower House. Three, she could give in to the gentle, sweet young man – Theodore – who was the baker's son, apprenticing to take over his father's business, and accept his suit of marriage. Her father had put his foot down, and her only recourse was this.

Fiona knew that when he was sixteen, he'd already been in service for a decade. But times changed, people changed – except Charles Carson. He was stubborn a fool as ever there was one, and it broke Fiona's heart to know that he hated her so much that he would force her to do something she wasn't ready to do rather than deal with his own failure.

"Lass, are you all right?" a young man asked.

Fiona shook herself and looked at him. "Sorry, I've been traveling for three days," she said, blinking tiredly. "I'm looking for Heather Green Cottage?"

"Oh, aye – Merrie Dougal's place," the man said with a smile. "If you go past the green there, and turn right on the high street, it's just between the tea shop and the post office. But what's a lovely lass like yourself want with Merrie Dougal? You aren't in the family way, are you?"

"No! God, no!" Fiona stuttered forcefully. "My mum – my mum is there."

"Ah, well… I wish you luck," the man said with a wink. "Merrie Dougal isn't exactly welcoming to those who don't need her services."

Fiona drew herself up to her full height, pursing her lips together and storming off in the direction he'd indicated. How dare a perfect stranger intimate that she was any less worthy than a common pregnant woman just because she wasn't in the family way? She was too young for all of that, anyway, even if mum had told her all about how babies came to be – that was only practical, because she needed to know for when mum went poorly or delivered early.

She found herself outside a darkly painted house that was several stories tall and thin, wedged between similar buildings that housed a tea shop and the post office and telegraph office. The sign on the gate said 'Heather Green Cottage – Merrie Dougal, midwife' in block letters; there was no front garden to speak of, just a cobblestone walk and a bit of brown grass peeking out of the snow.

She only hesitated for a moment before she decided that at least there would be a fire inside and maybe she could get warm. Fiona opened the gate and hurried to the door with her valise, using the heavy brass knocker quickly.

The door opened to reveal a short, plump woman with all the look of her mum. "Hello, lass – you look about frozen through."

Fiona nodded, unwilling to let her teeth chatter in front of this stranger. "I'm… I'm looking for my mum," she said. "Elsie Hughes. Carson. I don't know which she'd be using –"

The woman's eyes narrowed. "You turn right back around and march yourself back to your –" there was a long string of angry bitter Gaelic words that Fiona didn't understand, but made her flinch anyway, " – father and you tell him if he thinks sending you in his place is going to make Elsie come back to that god-forsaken country, he's got another thing coming!"

Fiona swallowed hard and tried to meet her eyes. "He doesn't know I'm here," she admitted. "And I've nearly frozen to death on the way – please, I just want to see my mum."

"She isn't your mum," the woman said coldly. "Not anymore than I was hers. So get off w'ye."

"Aunt Merrie?" came a disembodied voice. "What on earth's going on down there?"

"Never you mind, Els –"

Fiona couldn't take it; she was so close, just mere feet from her mum, and it hurt like she'd been punched. "MUMMY!" she cried. "Mum, please – I know you're angry at daddy, but –"

There was a sudden rush of noise and Elsie was flying down the stairs. She pressed past the midwife and threw her arms around Fiona, standing out on the front stoop. "Oh my word, what are you doing here?" she breathed. "Fiona, my darling girl, you're turning blue – Aunt Merrie, why didn't you just let her in? She's freezing to death!" She guided Fiona inside to the warm kitchen and bustled about, putting together some tea and soup. "When did you get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago, with the coach from Kilninver," Fiona said. "I've been on train after train for days," she admitted, "and then the coach."

"Aunt Merrie, stop looking a sourpuss," Elsie scolded gently. "This is Fiona, my daughter –"

"She's not your daughter," Merrie said, scowling. "She's _his_ daughter."

Fiona almost forgot her propriety; she wanted to throw her tea spoon at the old bat and tell her off sternly. She didn't _want_ to be Charles Carson's daughter – not after the way he'd been acting since Elsie had spirited away.

"No," Elsie said firmly, "she is mine, just as much as Gracie is, auntie."

"Her Ladyship said she got a letter from you," Fiona said quietly. "I took her tray up one morning instead of Miss Henley, and I… I copied the address down." She couldn't meet Elsie's concerned gaze. "And I took money from daddy's cottage box to come here. I had to – you don't know what it's been like, mum – you don't know…" She was suddenly a sobbing, blubbering mess. She was still so cold and the tea was barely making an impact. But Elsie's arms around her, her gentle murmurs, the sweet reassuring kisses… this was home. She'd missed her mother more than she could ever explain to anyone. And now she had come home to love.

"Oh, bless," Elsie sighed, stroking Fiona's hair. "My poor darling girl… I'm sorry to have put you in the middle like that. I am so sorry, love."

"Why did you go?" Fiona whispered. "You said you were never going to leave me again – why, mum?"

"I didn't want to leave you, my darling girl," Elsie whispered back, still stroking Fiona's hair. "I need you to believe me when I say if I could have taken you, I would have. I've missed you something dreadful, my darling. I have. I know you don't believe me – why would you, when I've been away for months without a word?"

Merrie all but threw a bowl of soup down on the table. "I hope that you're not going to go running back to your Charlie just because his daughter shows up on the doorstep, begging," she grunted derisively.

"Aunt Merrie, stop it," Elsie snapped sharply. "I was just as wrong as he was."

"No," Fiona spoke up, "he's much more in the wrong, mum." She looked up at Elsie and said, "I had to find you before it was too late and I never got to see you again. He wasn't ever going to come for you – he thought… that you'd come back when you felt more yourself. And when you didn't, he got cross with me. I have to make a choice, soon, and if I did that before I saw you… I'd never see you again, mummy."

"Love, you're not making any sense," Elsie murmured. "Eat your soup and let's get you warmed up. Then you can tell me why you came all this way."

Fiona eagerly drank her soup; there had been precious little to eat since she'd gotten off the last train. She was blissfully pleased with the meager bowl of soup and the slice of bread that she'd been given. "Mum, I –" She was cut off by a piercing howl that echoed through the house.

"I'll be right back," Elsie promised softly. "Please don't leave, Fiona –"

"I'm not going anywhere," Fiona said, blinking.

After Elsie had gone, Merrie said, "Aye. She's got a lass of her own now, so don't you dare be thinkin' that you're something special. Your da has made a mess of things, he has, and you better not forget it."

Fiona felt an icy fist clench around her heart; what if the old woman was telling the truth? Could Elsie really love a child of her own more than she loved Fiona? Was she lying and saying she was pleased to see her? This was a mistake, a horrible mistake – all of it. Fiona scrambled to her feet and began tugging her coat back on.

She would go back to Downton; she would give up her dream of becoming a teacher, so she wouldn't have to depend on Lady Grantham to underwrite her education. She would take up the place in the kitchens that Aunt Beryl had been gently grooming her for since she was old enough to speak. She would give up any thoughts of getting married and having a family, and be content with her life – if only her heart would stop aching with the sting of rejection from her mum.

Elsie had loved her once, not even that long ago. Why did it all have to hurt so much?

"Fiona, stop – wait," Elsie begged as she came down the stairs, a bundle of blankets in her arms. "Please – don't you want to meet your sister?"

Fiona was in scared, angry tears; jealousy, grief, and utter terror swirled up in her, choking her. "I want you to come home, but now you've got your perfect bairn – you don't need me anymore," she forced out. "I'll find somewhere to stay the night and then I'm going home."

"Stay here," Elsie murmured. "Please –"

"Mum, I can't stay where I'm not wanted; you have your own baby now. You don't want me anymore," Fiona said very quietly.

"There is not a day that goes by that I don't wish you were my daughter by blood," Elsie whispered. "I love you as though you were. Please don't leave, Fiona. Please tell me what's wrong –"

Fiona frowned and shook her head. "I've made my choice," she said, her voice breaking.

"No, no, no," Elsie said firmly, "you come here. You come here right now and listen to me, Fiona." She reached out and grabbed Fiona, roughly pulling her closer. "Don't you dare let your father's hurt push you into doing something you think isn't right. Your dad and I are not perfect, and I have never claimed to be – god knows I've failed you as a mum more times than I can count. But I won't let you throw your life away because your father doesn't know how to be a da to you, still, after all this time. I love you – more than words can say, Fiona. You are my daughter and I love you, so so very much. And I'm asking you to stop and reconsider whatever choice you've made – because you're hurting, I'm hurting, your da is hurting… the only one of us that isn't hurting is Gracie here." She jiggled the little bundle of blankets, eliciting a coo in response from the baby.

Fiona peeked over the edge of the blanket at the baby, startled when her gaze met huge blue eyes and a shock of curly black hair. The little girl smacked her lips together, then ran her tongue over them, then smiled sloppily, with a bit of drool, up at Fiona.

"I was wrong to run away," Elsie said very quietly, "but I was scared, Fiona. So very afraid. And your father wouldn't listen to me and he shut me out. I had to go, to get away from all the things that were making it that much worse – it was the only way I could save your sister." She stared at Fiona, imploring her to understand. "I love you and your father so much. I do."

Fiona took a deep breath, then exhaled. She reached out and gently touched the baby's face. "Then come home with me," she pleaded quietly. "Make him see reason and sense. He's not himself, mum. He's not okay without you."

Elsie nodded and said, "I think it's time."

Merrie rolled her eyes. "Good god, girl, where's your Scottish fire gone off to?"

"It's still here," Elsie assured her. "You better believe Charlie's going to get a bleeding earful when I get to Downton – what on earth choice were you going to have to make, Fiona? And on a scale of one to ten, how furious am I going to be when I find out?"

"Nine," Fiona replied automatically.

Elsie glared at her. "He didn't try to guilt you out of trying for your teacher's certification, did he?"

And that directness, that unwavering love and support, was just what Fiona had been desperately in need of for months. She tucked up into Elsie's arms with her baby sister and refused to let go.

END PART NINETEEN


	20. Chapter 20

Twenty:  
Love is Patient

Enough was enough.

Cora had watched Charles Carson barely holding it together for months; she did not envy the man, not in the slightest. With a teenaged daughter, no wife at hand, and a household to keep running smoothly, lord but she did not envy him. She also did not blame him for snapping at the footmen, demanding excellence from the maids, and even more so, demanding subservience and obedience that he had clearly been denied in the past.

But enough was enough.

Since Fiona had up and vanished in the night, leaving only a tersely-worded note stating in no uncertain terms that she would not be returning to Downton until she had spoken to her mother, he had been absolutely unbearable – to the point that Cora thought she might have to wire Robert and tell him that his former valet was being sacked. But she'd held off, thinking that maybe… maybe Fiona would succeed where everyone else had failed.

Maybe she would make Elsie Carson see sense.

God knew Cora had tried already; the letters between her and Mrs. Carson had flown fast and furious – however furtively – until about the time that would have been Elsie's confinement. Then they had come to an abrupt halt. Cora knew that it was only because her housekeeper was exhausted and –

Then another letter, finally. It had been very short and to the point, informing Cora of the birth of Rebecca Grace Carson, and Elsie's wish to stay in Scotland until the spring.

Cora understood; she really did. Elsie was desperate to hold onto her daughter till the bitter end: Cora would have done the same, had she been allowed. She had miscarried not long after Elsie had left, thanking god that she hadn't told Robert in any of her letters that she was pregnant. The blow would have distracted him, opened him to anger, bitterness, and regret on the battlefield. No, it was best that he didn't know.

Cora sighed and looked out the window, wondering, wishing…

Hoping.

* * *

"M'lady, telegram," Carson intoned, holding out the silver tray.

"Thank you, Carson," Cora murmured, taking the paper. He had been no better today; she'd heard him shouting in the servery at a footman who dared so much as grab the wrong spoon at breakfast. "It will get better," she said, finding that saying the hollow words did help her. "I am sorry."

His face betrayed nothing of how he felt, but she knew. "Yes, m'lady," he said, voice unsteady. "As am I."

She opened the envelope and almost sang with joy. "Carson, tell Mrs. Watson that we'll need the Red Room and the Blue Room aired and readied immediately. I will be going to the train station this afternoon; we are having guests for Christmas."

"Uninvited guests, m'lady?"

Cora's smile widened. "Oh no, Mr. Carson – never uninvited guests," she said.

For the telegram read:

 _4pm train from York. 3 plus me. FAC_

And the merest thought that Mrs. Carson was coming home was enough to make Cora all but dance with joy. Even if she knew that the upcoming rows between Mr. and Mrs. Carson would shake the house to its foundation, she also knew that they would overcome it eventually.

She held back a smug little smile and instead focused on the fact that she had a train to meet.

* * *

Elsie carefully followed Fiona off the train, juggling the bag with the baby's things in it and her own sparse luggage. Fiona was struggling with Aunt Merrie's valise – which weighed so much she thought that Merrie might intend to stay in England forever – and Merrie had a content armful of blankets and beautiful baby Gracie.

Merrie's lip curled up into a sneer. "This is Downton, then?"

"Auntie, the station is not the same as the village," Elsie sighed. She was tired; traveling with an infant was exhausting at the best of times, but traveling with a baby only seven weeks after having your womb removed to save your life was an altogether different story. Truly, the need to rest was the entire reason she had written to Lady Cora, begging off till spring; she'd never expected Fiona to show up on the doorstep out of desperation.

She had never expected to feel such joy, such elation, upon her return to Downton. She knew she was facing condemnation from her husband, from the village… but she had needed to leave. She had needed desperately to get away from the stress that would cause her to lose the baby; and that meant running away like a child that could not, would not, stop being stubborn long enough to listen to reason.

"Well, it is shabby," Merrie said with a sigh.

"Her Ladyship will send Fred," Fiona said. "He's the new coachman – they fired Baxter for tippling and having it off with one of the gardener's daughters." She stifled a giggle. "Anyway –"

"Fiona!" came a cry from the platform.

Elsie glanced up from her burden and ended up dropping one of the bags. "M'lady!" she gasped.

Lady Cora hurried over – as much as a lady of her stature could hurry, anyway – and she immediately embraced Elsie as thought they were sisters. "My goodness, you are a sight for sore eyes, Mrs. Carson," she exclaimed in her sweet, childlike voice. "How was the trip?"

"I confess that I'm a bit wrung out," Elsie murmured. "And Gracie will need a feed when she wakes up. I'm afraid I will be of no use the rest of the day."

"Then we'll get you back to the house and let you put your feet up," Lady Cora insisted. "Fiona, thank you for undertaking the journey –"

"I needed my mum," Fiona said simply. "I couldn't not go, m'lady."

"Your father has been… well… there is no delicate way to –"

"Charles Carson is an arse," Merrie muttered under her breath.

Elsie felt her face flush straight up to the roots of her hair. "M'lady, this is Merrie Dougal – my aunt. My mam's sister," she introduced softly. "She's been quite protective of Gracie and me… and now Fiona."

Lady Cora's lips pressed together in amusement, and she stifled a titter of laughter. "Ms. Dougal, I'm afraid that your assessment is rather correct. It's a pleasure for you to come visit Downton – I've had the housekeeper make up the Blue Room for you, and the Red Room for Mrs. Carson and Gracie."

That gave Elsie pause, but the wind blustered through the station, leaving them all shivering. Frank, the coachman, took the bags from Elsie and smiled kindly at her; she smiled back, more in relief at being home than anything else. "M'lady, can we go before we all freeze?" she inquired.

"Of course!" Lady Cora exclaimed. "Come, come, you'll all ride inside with me. I do hope you'll allow me to hold your darling Gracie?"

Elsie had just taken the wee one back into her arms and she smiled, this time with all the happiness of an exhausted, new mother. "Oh, aye," she agreed, "but after she's settled a bit. She gets very cranky if we have a pass-round before she eats."

As if to punctuate the point, Gracie started to stir in Elsie's arms, whimpering and wibbling. "Aye, love," Elsie whispered, "we'll go get settled."

It didn't take long to get loaded into the coach and Elsie settled with the baby at her breast, covered by one of her shawls. She remembered a January day not so many years ago when the same shawl had been almost frozen to her body as she'd walked to the Abbey from the station. How times changed…

Now the shawl sheltered the body of the wee babe she'd fought so hard to bring into the world. Elsie could only hope that Charles would see reason and accept their child back into his life. She couldn't bear to think of the alternative.

She knew from Fiona's perspective what she was walking into; the young woman was overdramatic, but it was her silence that clued Elsie in. Fiona clammed up when she knew her father was in the wrong because she never wanted to speak ill of him, even if he was being an unreasonable ass; this was overwhelmingly bad from the way she refused to speak at all.

"M'lady," Elsie spoke up, "Fiona and I have discussed things, and we would like it very much if she could take you up on your wish to underwrite her teacher's certification. I know that your intention is to install her at the village school, and I wholeheartedly agree with you."

Lady Cora smiled. "Oh, good," she said. "I was afraid that Mr. Carson would force darling Fiona here to go into the kitchens. God knows, Robert has discussed it with him often enough – I'd rather put my money where the future lies, rather than the past." She reached over and held Fiona's hand. "You will be a wonderful teacher."

"Thank you, m'lady," Fiona said softly.

"I've never met a lady of title or standing that behaves like you do," Merrie scoffed.

"Auntie," Elsie said warningly, "Lady Grantham has been most kind to Fiona and me over the years – I don't want to repay her kindness with rudeness."

"No offense meant, m'lady," Merrie said.

"None taken," Cora said. "Whatever insults you could hurtle my way couldn't possibly be any worse than what I've heard out of my mother-in-law while my husband is away at the War."

Elise lifted her gaze to meet Cora's. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to leave you alone through…"

"Stop," Cora insisted. "Everything will be fine."

Elsie wasn't so sure, but in that moment, Gracie released and she had to spring into action quickly or she'd leak all down her dress. "Oh, there's my love," Elsie cooed softly. "Full tummy and warm." She quickly did herself up and moved Gracie to her shoulder, letting her burp indelicately. "Oh goodness, love." Gracie whimpered and sighed, then giggled a little. "M'lady, would you care to hold her now?"

"Would I ever," Cora said with a grin. She held out her hands as the coach swayed when they hit a dip in the road. "Oh hello, my precious bit of lovely," she sighed happily, taking Grace into her arms. "You are absolutely darling, you are – you look so much like your mama, dear heart…"

"She looks like Fiona," Elsie said softly. "Not like me."

"She's very lovely regardless of who she looks like," Cora amended with a smile. "I think you'll be very happy here at Downton, lovely Gracie."

Elsie bit her lip nervously.

* * *

There was a light tapping on the door to his pantry; Charles paused in his writing long enough to say a curt, "Come in." He really had to finish his ledgers or there would be hell to pay when the next delivery came; he couldn't make heads nor tails of last week's notes, and it was making him furious with himself for letting it slide as long as he had. He didn't look up; he didn't need to know which bloody maid was coming to make demands on behalf of Mrs. Watson in order to send her on her way and doing what was needed.

There was silence until he grunted a slightly bitter, "Well, are you going to speak or am I going to have to drag it out of you, then?"

"The least you could do is look at me."

He jerked his eyes up, getting dizzy from the contrast between the paper and his daughter's face. "So you've come back, then?" Charles said.

"Yes," Fiona said quietly. "And I've made my decision about what I'm going to do."

Charles curled his fingers tighter around the pen; he knew he was being ridiculous, hard, far too demanding of her, but he couldn't back down now. He had put it to her and now he looked like a damn fool… "Fiona, I –"

She looked at him and for the first time, he couldn't read her. It was terrifying that he had known her every day of her life and he could not read her face; it rendered him impotent in a way he couldn't fathom, couldn't understand. She was silent for a moment, waiting for him to finish speaking, but he couldn't even do that. So, finally, she said, "You asked me to make a choice. I've made my choice. I will be going to school for my certification. Lady Grantham says I will be contracted to the village school once I'm certified, and I can pay her back from my first year's salary. I should have her investment repaid within the first six months."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Charles said, trying to keep his emotions out of his voice; dismay that she had so readily chosen to leave him, worry that she would be so far away where he could do nothing to protect her, fear that she would never come back – just like Elsie. "The Dowager Countess was just saying the other day how much she wished you would come cook for her at the Dower House…"

"As honored as I am by her faith in me, it's not what I want to do with my life, dad," Fiona said very quietly. "And no amount of fighting and shouting and insults bandied about will change that. So don't try that again. You made me make a choice, and I've made it." Her arms were crossed protectively over her torso, and he hated himself so much in that moment; he had caused this, all of it…

"I am sorry, Fiona –"

"Save your breath," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I want you to stop talking and listen to me, dad, because you never stop talking. You never listen to me. Never."

"I – I –" He conceded the point, falling silent.

"I love you because you're my dad," Fiona said finally. "Because you used to tuck me in every night and tell me stories and… and you're my dad." She paused, took a deep breath, and continued, "But you haven't behaved like my dad in a long time. Since you and mum fought and she left, you've been… you've been horrible. I love you because you're my dad, and I hate you because you're no better than Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Oren were. You never have a kind word for anyone and you're twice as hard on me as you are anyone else." She fell silent for a long time, took another deep, shuddering breath when he didn't dare deny her words. "You have your favorites," Fiona mumbled. "And so did she – but I cannot begin to think that you would do anything that she did to Lady Mary. I resent that girl because she's stolen my father from me, but… I cannot hate you for finding someone you care for more than me. I've never been good enough for you, have I? Mum and Aunt Beryl were the only ones who really cared about me; you didn't even care that mum and I were being hurt every day by Mrs. Potter –"

His eyebrows rose up into his hairline. Charles couldn't believe the absolute twaddle coming out of his daughter's mouth – did she really carry so much deep-seated anger and hatred toward him? "I didn't know you had ever been hurt by Mrs. Potter," he said, his voice low and soft. "I knew your mum had, but not… not you. Why didn't you tell me?"

She flushed bright red; his stomach sank and he resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. All the horrors Elsie had told him after her nightmares. Had they all been visited on his darling girl, too? God, how much of a fool had he been? How could he have been so blind? "How could I tell you?" Fiona asked. "Mum helped. She made me realize as soon as I was old enough that it's okay for me to touch myself there – that someone else that I love very much can touch me there. I'm not dirty or broken or tainted because of it; I was a little girl. And as long as I remember that my consent to be touched is what's needed, I should not be ashamed of what that woman did to me."

His heart was breaking for her; god, he wished – he wished he had known, so he could tear the bitch limb from limb. And then he vaguely remembered Elsie breaking the woman's arm. Dear god, she had gone to the mat, fighting for Fiona even then, and he hadn't even realized –

"Don't you dare say you're sorry," Fiona hissed. "Don't do it. It's not about you, dad. Not this. I don't want you to pretend that you can make things magically better by apologizing, because it's just not going to happen. You need to sit there and be wrong and live with it."

He hung his head, miserably accepting his daughter's scolding. The worst part was that nothing she had said was in any way untruth. He was the worst man alive. "I – I don't know what to do," Charles admitted, letting the sadness overtake him. He'd lost Elsie because he'd made one stupid, flippant comment; he was about to lose Fiona because he'd pushed her away. He didn't know what to do.

"Well… Her Ladyship sent me to fetch you to bring tea up to the drawing room," Fiona said with very little emotion. "Maybe you can start with that. Don't expect miracles, dad."

He didn't want a miracle.

He just wanted a glimmer of hope where there was none.

END PART TWENTY


	21. Chapter 21

Twenty-one:  
Love is Kind

It felt very odd to be back at Downton; even if none of the servants they had encountered thus far had known her (And what had happened in her absence, anyway? Had Charles sacked everyone and started afresh?), Elsie felt more than slightly disquieted by being served by her fellow employees. It was one thing when Charles prepared her tea, or Beryl made special biscuits, or Edina helped change the sheets or dust in their rooms – it was another altogether to have them waiting on her hand and foot because she was with Lady Grantham.

To her credit, Aunt Merrie was lapping it up like an excited puppy.

"You have such a lovely home, m'lady," Merrie said with a wide smile.

Lady Cora replied with a more sedate smile, "Thank you, Ms. Dougal… it's been in my husband's family for generations." She paused. "I wonder what's keeping the tea. Perhaps I should ring the bell again –"

"M'lady, I'd give it time," Elsie advised softly. "If things are as you say they are, that's all we can do."

Lady Cora's lip twitched; she looked down at her hands. "I confess I did not tell your husband that you were returning – and I fear that Fiona will not do so, in order to protect you…"

Elsie nodded. "So Mr. Carson will bring up the tea and be in for a major shock," she said quietly.

"As well he should be, the way he treated you," Merrie scoffed, making a face.

"Auntie," Elsie sighed, rubbing her forehead with the heel of her hand, "how many times must I tell you that we were equally at fault before you'll stop laying the blame solely at Charles's feet?" She looked down at Gracie, who was sleeping soundly, happily, her little mouth moving in sleep as a suckling motion. She just had to keep reminding herself that everything she had done had been worth it; Gracie was there, she was beautiful, and she was healthy.

It didn't matter that Elsie had almost died to bring her into the world. She had been fine after the birth, as far as Merrie could tell – but the bleeding had begun in earnest, her womb tearing itself apart, as she had lain in bed. It was lucky that the village doctor lived only a few doors down, and Merrie had gone to fetch him in the middle of the night. They'd not even had the time to give Elsie chloroform before he'd cut her open, removed the offending organ, stopped the hemorrhage, and stitched her closed again. She still smarted in places where the scar tissue was growing back quite thickly.

But it didn't matter; the babe was healthy, and Elsie – though diminished – was as close to healthy as she could be, as well. Nevermind that she'd never be able to lift forty pounds of linens in one go again… that was what housemaids were for. Assuming that Lady Cora kept her word and allowed Elsie to work again, that is.

Merrie huffed. "Oh, give me the babe," she muttered. "You go find that man of yours and give him a what-for –"

"I'll be doing no such thing," Elsie snapped. "There is no reason to make him feel worse than he already does; clearly, you don't understand that. It's why two husbands left you," she added snarkily. "You're bitter and alone; and it's all your own making, Auntie."

Merrie's sharp retort was cut off by the sounds of a tea set on a tea tray clinking together unsteadily. Surely Charles would not allow such –

But when Elsie turned her head, it was indeed her Charlie who stood there, stock still, aside from his shaking hands. He did not say a word, just went into butler mode, recovering as best he could. He poured tea for the women, then went to the corner to wait.

Merrie made a furtive gesture. "That's…?"

"Auntie," Elsie said warningly, "enough."

Cora smirked and said, "Maybe I should hold the baby for a moment."

"No, I'm fine," Elsie said softly, shifting Gracie in her arms. She was tired, yes, and in a bit of pain, but that was from the long days of traveling, of being cramped up inside the third class compartments of the trains, getting no sleep and shielding herself from the glares and stares of her fellow passengers as she'd fed Gracie beneath her shawl. She'd truly not been ready to travel; her body wasn't up to it.

Ever so slyly, Cora threw in, "Maybe Mr. Carson would like to hold her so you might drink your tea. Really, Mrs. Carson, you look like you might fall out of your seat at any moment from exhaustion. You're positively grey."

"M'lady, I'm just weary," Elsie tried to lie, but she felt overwhelmingly nervous and coupled with the exhaustion, she probably was grey in the face. "It's all right – I'm fine."

"You're not," Merrie snapped, "but you're far too stubborn for your own good and had to up and get to Downton before bloody Christmas when you're meant to be resting till May at the earliest –"

Elsie glared at her aunt until she fell silent, realizing that the atmosphere in the room had changed dramatically. "Auntie, I am fine," Elsie gritted out between clenched teeth.

Charles cleared his throat gently. "M'lady, it would be under my purview as butler to offer Mrs. Carson assistance in this matter," he said quietly. "If she would see fit to accept my help, I would hold the child so she might enjoy her tea."

Elsie hesitated; she didn't want him to think that she didn't want him to hold Gracie, but at the same time, she needed to have the baby as close to her as possible. Gracie kept her grounded, sane, held together in a world full of ups and downs and shifting sands beneath her feet. Her gaze flicked up at his and she said softly, "Do you remember how to hold a very wee bairn properly?"

"I do," he said, his tone both ruffled and annoyed.

She swallowed hard. "Then come hold your daughter, Mr. Carson," she said in a gentle voice. "She'll be sleeping for a bit yet, and then she'll want feeding." He came over hesitantly. She lifted the bundle of blankets and Gracie into his arms, making sure the baby was settled before she let him pull away from her. "What is her name?" he asked, still staring down at the baby's face with something akin to awe on his features.

"Rebecca Grace," Elsie murmured. "I didn't think we should tempt fate."

The stern set of his features softened and Charles gently ghosted his fingertips across the baby's cheek. "Hello, Rebecca," he said softly.

"We call her Gracie," Merrie snapped in a very cold tone. "Of course, you do what you want."

Charles glanced at Elsie, raising an eyebrow. "My mum's sister, Merrie," Elsie murmured. "She's been very good to me – to _us_."

"Aunt Merrie, then –"

"You don't have the right to call me that," Merrie sniped. "After the way you've behaved –"

"The way _I've_ behaved?" Charles scoffed rather unprofessionally. "I seem to remember a certain Scotswoman throwing one of my mother's vases at me across the room in a fit of pique."

"I _am_ sorry," Elsie said, taking a sip of tea. She didn't feel much like eating or drinking, but she knew she must for Gracie's sake. "But I remember a certain gentleman telling me that he felt that it was my own fault that I was taking my life into my own hands, and repeating it once we came home – and I had fainted on the stairs – and I was properly infuriated." She lowered her voice and looked away from him. "My point being that we both behaved abominably."

He was silent and she looked up to find him raptly studying the bundle in his arms. She couldn't blame him much, there; Gracie was small and well-formed, and perfect in her eyes. She could imagine how the babe seemed to him. As opposed to his wife, who was probably paler than she'd ever been in her life, her fingers clenching in pain around her teacup's handle. Elsie was far less than perfect at this stage, and she knew it keenly.

"If you'll excuse me," she said, setting aside her tea and rising quickly to her feet. Ever since her surgery, her bladder had been misbehaving; the last thing she wanted was to have an accident in front of Lady Cora. The younger woman would be horrified. But as soon as she was on her feet, Elsie wobbled precariously; Merrie came to her rescue and helped her from the room.

In the water closet, Elsie wept her displeasure, her pain, her suffering… Merrie pulled out the vial and needle, meting out a third of the doctor's prescribed dosage of opiate to numb her niece's pain. Elsie had been concerned about Gracie getting too much of it in her milk after the first few days, and they had cut it back to the very bare minimum that allowed her to function. She was stubborn as hell, tight-lipped, and did not complain unless she had to; she did not take the medicine unless she absolutely could not stand it anymore.

Merrie held her close, gently petting her, embracing her, calming her – small words and large gestures. "It's all right, m'love," Merrie assured her. "The pain will ease soon… you should have said hours ago –"

"It wasn't like this hours ago," Elsie sniffled. The white hot, searing pain came and went, usually concentrated in her belly and back, but sometimes traveling down her legs. She wondered vaguely if the doctor had clipped something wrong inside her when he was cutting her apart, something that would cause her such agony. She would never know; all she knew was her nerves were shattered along with her body. "I couldn't face Charlie anymore like this," she whimpered. "I can't – he's going to think me so weak and I – I can't lose his respect."

"You stop bloody worrying about your daft man and start worrying about yourself, you daft girl," Merrie scolded. "How are you going to care for your girls if you can't even take care of yourself?"

"But I –"

"No buts," Merrie murmured. "If he cannot accept the way you are now, he is not the man for you and you will learn to accept that in time. Life takes us all in strange twists and turns, love… and you are stronger than most. You'll survive."

Elsie felt the familiar lessening of pain begin to take hold, and she breathed a bit easier. Her fingers tingled and the hot stabbing began to numb. She leaned heavily against Merrie, still with tracks of tears running down her cheeks.

"Better?" Merrie inquired gently.

"Much," Elsie admitted, her voice breaking.

"I am so sorry, love," Merrie murmured. "I wish there was another way –"

"You need to show me the dose," Elsie said softly, "so I might dose myself when you've gone home."

"You intend to stay?" Merrie asked, surprised.

"This is my home," Elsie whispered. "Of course I intend to stay."

"Yes, but –"

"It was not entirely Charles at fault," Elsie reiterated for the thousandth time. "And I cannot just abandon him now. I love him, Auntie. _I love him_. Not like I cared for Joe – I want to spend the rest of my life with Charlie, to be his wife in _every way possible_. I was wrong to have run away, but if I had to make the same decision, I would do it again." She leaned heavily against the vanity, her face still ashen grey in exhaustion and barely contained pain. " _I love him_ ," she repeated.

"But does he love you in return?" Merrie questioned. "He's done nothing to suggest –"

"He wouldn't," Elsie said quietly. "Not in front of Lady Grantham. He is a butler, through and through; emotions are locked away until we are in private." Her fingers twitched, then released their white-knuckle stranglehold on the counter. She was finally steady enough to stand on her own without assistance; she could not bear to think of what would happen when she had a spell in the future on the stairs with Gracie in her arms. So she tried not to think of the uncertain future, and concentrate only on the fact that she felt marginally better.

"If he does anything to hurt you or Fiona, I will take him out back and beat him within an inch of his worthless life," Merrie snapped. "God knows you've told me enough horror stories about your time in service –"

"He saved me," Elsie said very quietly. And he had; Charles had given her an outlet for her emotional destruction, a way for her to deal and move on.

"You bloody saved yourself," Merrie muttered. "He just stood by and let it happen –"

Elsie turned to face her aunt, then, a flush of anger creeping up onto her face. "Stop trying to blame everything on him, Aunt Merrie – I am not perfect, and neither is he. Blaming him for my failings will get us nowhere. I _want_ to be home with him. I have been so sick at heart without my Charlie; please forgive me for actually loving a man who loves me in return. I know your experiences with marriage have been bitter and failed… but please, allow me the chance to redeem my marriage."

Merrie's lips pursed together; she looked so much like Elsie's mam in that moment that she felt a pang of deep sadness and longing in her heart. "Fine," Merrie ground out. "But if he does you one bit of harm –"

"He won't," Elsie murmured. "And if he does, I will let you tear him to shreds." She took a deep, shaky breath. "I need to check on Gracie. She should be waking hungry any moment."

"Can you manage?" Merrie inquired.

Elsie nodded, exuding a confidence she didn't really feel; she could manage, she would manage. But would she ever feel at ease again? Probably not. She took several steps shakily to the door and opened it, only to see Charles waiting in the corridor with Gracie in his arms, looking lost.

"She woke up," he said, his voice unsure. His face was contorted into a mask of worry, fear, and uncertainty as he glanced back and forth between Elsie and Gracie. "I didn't know what to do. She's not crying, but –"

Elsie came over and stroked her daughter's cheek. "Hello, love," she murmured. "Are you happy to meet your daddy?" The baby cooed and yawned a little. Elsie smiled at Charles. "She's happy and content, Mr. Carson. You've done very well."

"Are you all right?" he asked, failing to keep the anxiety out of his tone.

"For now," Elsie murmured.

And she was.

END PART TWENTY-ONE


	22. Chapter 22

Twenty-two:  
Love is an Infinite Well-spring

Charles served at dinner; he knew that, as a valued guest, Elsie would be expected to attend. Merrie did attend, with her shock of white hair and her annoyed, twitching lips, but Elsie was nowhere to be found. He did not dare inquire as to her whereabouts – Lady Grantham would not only frown upon it, but he would likely be out of a job, and that would do Elsie no favors.

He just wanted another glimpse of her before she spirited herself away again. He was convinced that he had already long-since lost the war, and she would be his in name only. That she would leave again as soon as she was able. And who could blame her? Without her calming influence, he had become the worst kind of a man: a tyrannical ruler of the downstairs empire.

The worst part was, once he was in that mode, he didn't know how to stop it. Everything made him snappish, peevish; he had only wanted things to return to normal, not…

From the moment he had held Rebecca Grace in his arms, he had felt such love and wonder as he'd never felt before. Alice had not allowed him to hold Fiona after she was born, and then he had neglected to do so, leaving her in the care of a wet nurse from the village until he had arranged transportation and a job at Downton. So, he had lied when Elsie had asked if he remembered how to hold a young babe, hoping that he could remember enough of watching others do it to fake it properly. He loved Fiona, he really did, but her infancy was so tightly wrapped around his grief over losing Alice that he had distanced himself; now, he had a chance to prove himself as a father again, but he was so certain he had already lost Elsie that he didn't know if she would allow him near their daughter.

And for that, he felt pitiful. He had turned into the kind of a man that they had both despised and it would be his undoing.

"How is Mrs. Carson feeling this evening?" Lady Cora inquired gently of Merrie.

"She will be much better in the morning," Merrie said. Charles could feel her eyes boring into him, but he did not waver, did not flinch. "She wanted to stay abed with Gracie this evening; the trip has worn them both to the bone." "I feel dreadful that she was in so much pain earlier," Lady Cora said with a heavy sigh. "I wish Mrs. Carson would not try so hard to keep such things from me. I do know, as a woman, the pains of –"

"Not like this, m'lady, pardon me for saying," Merrie said, cutting her off. "I'm not at liberty to discuss it beyond saying that our Elsie is a very strong woman, but strength will only get you so far in this life." Again, Charles felt her gaze boring into him like fire. He felt even guiltier, if that was possible, in the face of her condemnation.

"Well, of course, if the doctor advised her to rest, she must do so," Lady Cora said kindly. "I've been keeping back her wages; there's no point in Fiona or Gracie going hungry because she's not been working."

Charles found it hard not to sputter and turn colors; he was the provider in the family! How dare she insinuate that he could not care for his wife and children, that his wife would need the money as much as –

And then he remembered Becky, her care, the way the fees had gone up to secure doctor's care for all the patients at Jessop House. How Becky had written to 'my Charlie' and told him that Ava, her best friend in all the world, had died and she was alone and scared. That the new nurses were cruel, that she wanted her Sissy to come back and take her home with her. And he felt more helpless than ever before in his life.

He had failed Fiona as a father, as a protector. He had failed Elsie as a husband, as a lover, as a friend. He had failed Becky as a brother, as a provider, as someone who cared for her deeply but could not help her much. He had failed the Granthams as a butler, as a constant, as a man of integrity and honor. And now he would fail Gracie as a father, a protector, someone who loved her very deeply, but could not see his way out of the maze of conflicted thoughts and emotions in order to be the father she needed.

He had failed everyone.

Everyone.

"Carson, you look unwell," Lady Cora said, cutting through the buzzing silence in his brain. "Maybe you should –"

"I am fine, m'lady," he said stiffly. "Do not concern yourself with me."

"I am concerned," Lady Cora said gently. "For both you and our guests in the Red Room, who have not rung for dinner. Maybe you should leave the footmen to serve us our dinner, and you should take a tray up for our guests?"

 _Meddling American woman_. It wasn't done for the butler to leave in the middle of dinner service and she knew it. She **_knew_** it. He was conflicted; on the one hand, he wanted to go check on Elsie, but on the other, his duty was to the family, to his employer… But if Lady Cora was ordering him to check on her, rather than merely suggesting, surely it would not be frowned upon? "I should not leave my post, m'lady –"

"You've trained the footmen well enough," Cora dismissed with a gentle wave of her hand. "Go take a tray up to Mrs. Carson. I don't expect to see you again until breakfast."

He hesitated, frowning, then Merrie snapped, "Just get on w'ye already. No use moonin' about the dinnertable, wishin' you were upstairs with her."

"Go, Carson," Lady Cora said, her voice firm and booking no argument.

With that, Charles finally considered himself freed for the evening. The others could handle the ladies; he had been ordered away. _Thank god_.

He went downstairs into the kitchens and met a fussing Beryl. "Mrs. Patmore," Charles said gravely, "I am to understand that the Red Room has not rung for dinner?"

"Aye, bloody fools," Beryl snapped, rounding her irritation on him instead of Fiona, who was scurrying around, trying to put the finishing touches on the dessert course. "I go out of my way for uninvited guests and just look what bloody happens –"

Charles frowned; surely Fiona or someone else would have communicated that the 'uninvited guests' were merely Mrs. Carson and her aunt. "Her Ladyship has asked for a tray to be made up so I might take it to the Red Room," he said gravely.

"Her bloody Ladyship can make up a bloody tray herself!" Beryl all but shrieked.

"I'll do it," Fiona said. Her words were quiet, clean, abrupt. "Auntie, don't worry about impressing them. I'm sure the stew for downstairs dinner and some bread will suffice."

"I will worry about impressing the guests –"

"Mrs. Patmore," Charles said, his voice steely, "there is no need."

"Mr. Carson, I do not tell you how to do your job," the cook snapped back warningly, "so maybe you should butt that big nose of yours out of my business!"

"Mrs. Patmore, there is no need to impress Mrs. Carson," Charles said with a sigh. "She will be pleased with whatever Fiona chooses to send up on the tray."

There was sudden silence. "Mrs. Carson?" Beryl said quietly. "Our guest is Mrs. Carson, and no one thought to tell me?"

"Because she's not feeling very well," Fiona interjected firmly. "I can take the tray up, father."

Charles flinched at the coldness of the title. "Her Ladyship has charged me with that duty," he said. "You should stay down here and help with the –"

"Don't," Fiona hissed. "Don't do it."

His shoulders slumped. "Nevertheless, I shall take the tray up."

"You better not make my mum cross," Fiona said warningly. "If you do, I will –"

"I have no intention of making anyone cross; I just seem to do it with aplomb as of late," Charles said, his tone regretful and slightly sad.

"Because you've been behaving like a right prick," Beryl said cheerfully – as opposed to angrily as before. He would take winning the small battle; he may never get Fiona back fully on his side now, so he would take all of the small battles he could.

Fiona finished laying a tray of stew, bread, and a large slice of lemon pie. She looked furtively at her father, then said, "It's ready. Tell mum I love her and I'll be up later to help with the baby."

He nodded, lifting the tray and heading out of the kitchens as Beryl ambushed her for details about Elsie and the baby. He was glad not to be in the range of fire – at least for a few minutes. No, that would come soon enough.

He paused outside the door to the Red Room and set the tray on the sideboard so he might knock without disrupting the food. He knocked and waited; finally, Charles heard a faint, "Just leave it on the sideboard," in reply.

He was torn; on the one hand, he did not want to see her shun food, and on the other hand, he was bloody well ready to talk to her. They needed to talk, to work out whatever needed working out from before… Charles needed to tell her that he still loved her very deeply, dearly, and he was so furious with himself for making her to feel that she was not worthy of his love. That he did not love her and the babe equally – well, of course he did not love them equally. He loved Elsie with all of his heart and soul; Gracie was an afterthought. But he did love the little girl with her black curly hair and her little nose so like Elsie's. Just not the same way he loved her mother. He could never love the child like he loved the mother.

He didn't know how long he'd stood there when the door opened. "I assume you have a reason for skulking out here in the corridor, Charlie," Elsie said softly.

"How could you tell I was –"

"You were blocking the little light that was coming in beneath the door," she murmured.

"Why don't you have a candle going?" he asked, looking past her into the darkened room.

"I'm trying to get Gracie to settle for the night," Elsie sighed. "She's so fussy today." She jiggled the baby gently as she nursed beneath the shawl. "My poor little girl doesn't like the train, not that I can blame her much."

His heart jerked a bit in his chest. "Does this mean you will be remaining at Downton?" he inquired, attempting to sound nonchalant.

"Aye," she responded in a clipped, abrupt explosion of the word.

"Elsie, I – I don't begin to know how to apologize…"

"Well, first off, come in so you can do it properly, not allow just anyone to overhear you," Elsie scolded gently. "And secondly, I should be the first to apologize."

"Elsie, no –"

She held up her free hand and said, "Let me say my piece, Charlie. I wasn't in my right mind when I left. I was scared and angry with you because you didn't seem to want the baby. I thought if I was to die, or the baby was to die, it would be best if I weren't near you – you didn't need to be hurt more. I know how hard it was for you to lose Alice. I couldn't bear the idea of you feeling the same for me if something happened. So I was foolish and I ran like a child after a tantrum. I was wrong, Charlie. About all of it; I needed you and I was too utterly stupid to see it till it was already too late."

"It's not too late," he said quietly, his voice choking him with emotion. "It's never too late, Elsie – I am glad you've come home. And I am sorry I made you feel that your only option was to run, love."

"Charlie, come in and close the door," she murmured.

END PART TWENTY-TWO


	23. Chapter 23

Twenty-three:  
Love Does Not Judge

Elsie backed away from the doorway enough that Charles could come through and close the door behind him. They stood there for a long moment, just staring into one another's eyes before she broke the contact and looked away. She could not resist the urge to lift up the shawl – which she had taken to using because it made others more comfortable – and smile down at her sleepy daughter. The little lass was a bit milk drunk, half-asleep and kneading at her mother's breast.

Elsie wished it wasn't painful to breast feed, but with her nerves shot, it felt dreadful. She felt like the worst mother ever for even thinking about complaining about her pain, though, so she kept it to herself. She hoped, though, to talk to Lady Cora and see about securing a wet nurse sooner rather than later; Cora would understand, she hoped, even if Charles did not. Cora was a woman, after all, and even if she had never nursed her own children, she might comprehend the pain if it was described. She might have need to see the doctor, though, and have it confirmed that there was something wrong with her for it to hurt this way – but such humiliation was hard to swallow. She had fought so long and so hard for this perfect, strong little girl in her arms, and now she could not fathom anyone telling her that she was doing the babe harm.

"Is she happy?" Charles asked, bringing Elsie's gaze back up to him.

"She's a baby, Charlie," Elsie murmured. "As long as she's fed, cuddled, and in a dry and clean nappy, she's most content."

"Are you happy?" he asked, reaching out and gently touching her arm.

She stopped short and thought about it for a brief moment; after so long, having her greatest wish granted, she should be beyond elated. But every silver lining was attached to a dark cloud, and theirs still hung between them, stark and unrelenting. She was pleased to have Gracie, but she was being punished severely for having her at all. She was pleased to be home, but the spectre of her outright fight with her husband danced between them, mocking them both the idea of moving on and being together again. In short, she could not be happy because she was afraid of her discontented nature.

And she was afraid that he could not, would not, be able to love her such as she was. She was half a woman now, suffering pains greater than anyone should have to endure, and she had to suffer them in secret because he could not see her to be weaker than the Elsie he'd known prior. She could not allow him to be distracted, especially by her. Not when it would be a perpetual problem.

He noticed her hesitation, then looked away. "I am sorry, Elsie," he said very quietly. "I know you must loathe me very much now –"

"No," she whispered. "I couldn't and I don't. But I do blame myself."

"You shouldn't."

She shrugged a little. "You needed me here and I wasn't because I was selfish and cowardly," Elsie murmured. "So I blame myself. It's fine; I am used to shouldering blame for things, Charlie. How many times I've taken the brunt of His Lordship's anger about the staff so you might be spared another annoyance. It must have been a rude awakening, trying to deal with it all once I'd gone. I am sorry." She glanced back under the shawl as Gracie released her nipple. The baby was sound asleep; Elsie hurried to replace the wadding in her nursing corset so she would not leak everywhere, and then she did up her blouse quickly with one hand. Charles was watching her; she could not help but blush. "Nursing is a messy business," she dismissed quietly.

Her nipples ached, her breasts ached, her arms ached… but she could not bring herself to tell him that she was in pain, that each tug of the baby on her nipple made the shooting pains begin anew. Her eyes were shining with tears, trying to hold back the torrent of complaints.

"Oh, love," he sighed, "don't cry…"

"I'm bloody well trying not to," she muttered, pulling the shawl off and gently tucking it around the baby in her arms. She shifted Gracie upright a bit more and began patting her bum gently, until the babe belched in her sleep. "There's my girl," Elsie murmured, praising the sleeping child, who probably didn't even hear her.

"May I hold her?" Charles inquired.

"Aye – I've got to get a candle on and make the cradle comfortable for her," Elsie said quietly. "I've not had a moment's peace between tea and now."

"You should have said –"

She tried to silence him with a glare, but it felt foreign on her face again. "Charlie, I can manage," she said in as firm a voice as she could muster. "Women have been caring for babies for ages, and running households with no help."

"But you have help," he pointed out gently. "You don't have to go it alone; you just have to tell Fiona or me –"

"I should be able to manage it by myself!" she spat suddenly. "No need for you to go out of your way, Charles."

"Elsie, I didn't mean –"

"You never mean it, but that doesn't stop you from saying it in the first place," she pointed out.

"I am not trying to start a row," he said, cradling Gracie in his arms as she lit the candle. She ignored him, preferring to go prepare the cradle that Lady Cora had brought down from the nursery. "Elsie, I know you aren't pleased with being here – that you would have preferred to stay in Scotland…"

"You don't know what I want," she snapped, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "I wanted to come home ages ago, but Merrie wouldn't let me leave once I hit five months because I must need be in bed to protect the bairn, and then she was born and I couldn't leave because the doctor said not – I was meant to stay till May, Charlie. I'm not supposed to climb stairs or lift anything more than Gracie until then."

"Why?"

She shook her head. "Never you mind the whys, Charles," she said quietly. "Just be glad we're here at all. I wanted to come home; I wrote letters and said I was sorry, but you never replied, and I thought…"

"You never did!" Charles exclaimed indignantly.

"I did so," Elsie argued bitterly. "I gave them to Auntie Merrie to –" She stopped short, recalling the hostility, the anger, that her aunt had projected Charles's way. "Oh god, Charles, I'm sorry – I'm so sorry – I thought I could trust her to send them. I tried to explain, to apologize, to ask you to come because I couldn't leave."

He looked at her sadly. "Elsie, love… it could just have easily have been at this end. I had to discipline someone for misplacing Her Ladyship's mail. It could have been that he kept mine to punish me. He was sacked for getting one of the maids with child. He was very careful to point out that I was no better than he was – getting the housekeeper up the duff. I reminded him that we are married; he did not leave under good terms."

She shook her head and sighed. "I wrote to Fiona, as well – I missed her dreadfully, Charlie. Almost as much as I missed my giant Downton bear."

"I would have," he said abruptly.

"What?"

"Come for you. If I had gotten the letters, nothing short of disaster would have kept me from coming to you," he said, lowering his voice and looking down at the child in his arms. "I love you, Elsie, and it nearly killed me to think I'd lost you over my own stupidity. And I was stupid. I never meant you to think I didn't want the baby – or you. I was speaking out of shock, worry, and… stupidity, really. I am the one who should be sorry."

"Charlie," she said softly, "why don't you put Gracie to bed? You're holding her quite tightly, dear. We wouldn't want her to wake up prematurely and not be able to get her off again…"

"Why did Her Ladyship put you in here, rather than you coming back to our apartments?" he asked as he laid the sleeping baby into the cradle. Elsie fussed over her a minute before she attempted to answer his question.

"Because neither of us were certain you would welcome me back at all," Elsie murmured. "We did leave under strained circumstances and you hadn't answered any of my letters. I was scared you would turn me back out into the cold."

"God, Elsie, never," he whispered, pulling her into his arms and giving her a gentle kiss. "Never," he repeated, his declaration a bit firmer. "I love you."

She flinched and pulled away from him, shaking; the pain of being held was more than she could bear. Her body was humming, thrumming, with sudden agony, and she took a step back, trying to regain her breath.

"Elsie –"

"No," she exclaimed, holding him at arm's length when he moved closer. "I'll be fine, just… don't touch me, please."

"Sweetheart," he said in that gentle, scared voice of his, "should I send for the doctor?"

She scoffed, making a snorting noise as she did. "What is he going to do that hasn't already been done?" Elsie asked bitterly. "It's normal, to be expected after…" She broke off, lowering her gaze so it didn't seem like a challenge to him. "After everything."

"My love, please tell me what's going on," Charles said, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't help if you don't tell me –"

"You can't help any more than the doctor can," she muttered. "I'm sorry, Charles. I'm sorry I'm not a full wife to you anymore – I can never be…" Her voice cracked, broke; she felt like a fraud, a charlatan, offering him promises she could no longer keep.

"Stop, Elsie," he pleaded gently, "and tell me what's –"

She couldn't stand the pity, the fright in his eyes; it was dark, painful, so wrong… "My womb is gone," she finally spat. "I was bleeding too much and the doctor just… cut me open and took it. I – I've been in pain every day since I had Gracie, Charles, and nothing helps."

"Surely something must help –"

"I have medicine," she murmured, "but I don't take it if I can suffer through."

"Elsie, you must take your medicine –"

She went to the bedside table and dug in the drawer, getting one of the small bottles of tincture of opium out. She crossed the room and placed it into his hand; she remembered very clearly the day he had fired a footman for having polluted the sanctity of the downstairs by having gone to an opium den in Ripon and having dared to come back under the drug's soporific effect. What on earth would he say about his wife being no better than that man? She retreated away from him, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

And explode, he did.

"How on earth can you take this while you're nursing our child?" he shouted. "My god, Elsie –"

Her eyes narrowed, her heart beat faster in defense, her anger a palpable thing, looming between them. "I don't take it until I'm in so much pain I wish I were dead," she hissed, her voice lowering dangerously. "The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt our Gracie, Charles, and if you think I would be so uncaring as to put our daughter in that kind of danger, clearly, you are not the man I fell in love with. I only take it when I cannot hold out against the pain. When I take it, I usually fall asleep and Aunt Merrie feeds the bairn from a bottle of sheep's milk. Today, I had no way of acquiring any other milk, so I had to nurse her – and I'm in even more pain now than I was before. So don't you _dare_ tell me that I have no right to relieve my agony, Charles!"

"How can you take this?" he repeated. "Elsie –"

"I don't have a choice!" she exclaimed. "There is nothing else to –"

"But opium?" he shot back. "What would Her Ladyship say, Elsie? You cannot manage a household under the influence of such a dangerous drug – and I cannot believe that you would be in so much pain that you would take such a thing, knowing my disdain for…"

She rounded on him then, infuriated, pained, like a wildwoman. She unbuttoned her shirtwaist, untucked the wadding from her breasts, released the corset's clasps, lowered her skirt so she could remove everything – not even for a moment caring what a fool she might look to him, half dressed and angry. She stood before him in her knickers then, her shift non-existent so she might easily be able to nurse, her arms crossed over her breasts, showing off the scars across her belly, still angry and red weeks after her emergency surgery. He gaped at her, speechless, and she said with no shame, "And as bad as this looks, it is nothing compared to the rest. Don't you dare think you can judge me for attempting to find relief, Charles Carson."

Her anger dissolved when he began to cry. "Elsie," he choked out, "why didn't you _tell me_ – why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because I'm ashamed, you fool beastie of a man," she whispered. "I shouldn't need any of that, but I can't live without it some days and… and I was terrified that you would hate me for –"

"Let me send for the doctor," he insisted. "There has to be something that he can do for you that doesn't involve opium – your scars shouldn't be that color after so long. You might have an infection that's causing you pain, Elsie – please, let me help."

Swallowing what was left of her pride, basically standing naked before her husband, pleading with him not to hate her, Elsie Carson took a deep breath.

And she nodded.

END PART TWENTY-THREE


	24. Chapter 24

Twenty-four:  
Love is Eternal

The two words that Elsie Hughes Carson _never_ ** _ever_ _ever_** wanted to hear in her lifetime again were 'emergency' paired with 'surgery'. Twice, she had heard them uttered (by two very different doctors with two very different approaches), and twice, she had been to the brink of death. Anymore and she would begin to wonder if the good Lord even wanted her on the earth at all!

But as she became aware of her surroundings again, sound was the first thing she regained. She heard soft talking from Dr. Clarkson and a nurse; she heard gentle words of love and encouragement from Charles and Fiona. She heard the soft fussings of Gracie, then Fiona murmuring that she would take the baby out for a feed. Elsie felt like she was floating, not really part of the world yet, but not really apart from reality, either. It was an odd feeling, unlike the utter pain and devastation of the surgery before. Perhaps Dr. Clarkson knew what he was doing as opposed to the country doctor in Scotland?

She could hear Charles, all deep rumbling voice and calming timbre; she heard Fiona, exchanging sharp words with him. She heard soft whimpers and cries from Gracie, but did not feel like she could open an eye – let alone move.

"Mrs. Carson," she heard Dr. Clarkson say in a gentle but clinical tone much later, "you take the time you need to rest. I know you're not quite all here with us, but you just take all the time you need. Everything has been handled; you need to focus on healing." A warm, gentle pat on her hand, and then she was alone again.

When she finally opened her eyes, it was dark on the ward; not even a candle to be seen. She shifted, wincing a little, as her stitches tugged. God only knew how long she'd been out – she had a hazy recollection of an argument with Dr. Clarkson about whether or not she needed to be cut open again, and then she had gone to sleep under the anesthetic. Maybe she'd never really had a choice: Charles would have made it for her, erring on the side of caution.

Her husband, ever loving, ever cautious. What he must think of her now.

An opium user, half a bloody woman, scared and pathetic and not worthy of him or his love; that was what she was now. She wasn't his wife anymore, not really: they'd been at one another's throats, then forced separation… Elsie would not blame him if he'd found someone else in the meanwhile. If he loved someone else now.

Her heart could survive being broken again.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, then surprised herself – and her bravado – by bursting into tears.

* * *

Violet Crawley could not abide silly sentiment. She had seen men and women brought to their knees, slaves to their passions. Mr. Carson was one such man, and she hated to see the way he had fallen. And for a sharp-tongued Scotswoman, as well!

The fact that her daughter-in-law had also been taken in by Mrs. Carson's nonsense incensed Violet. The woman was a canny schemer, that much was for certain; in order to get Mr. Carson wrapped round her little finger, she'd had to first entice him, then work her wiles on him – and the very idea of Carson in bed with the woman made Violet shudder.

Now they had another baby, another mouth to feed, another burden on the estate. Carson had been tapped out on his wages and Robert had offered him an additional stipend to provide for Fiona, with the assumption that she would be put to work immediately upon her seventh birthday. Mrs. Carson and Cora had prevented that; what had been a sound investment then was now overdrawn. Surely Mrs. Carson could be made to see sense when her husband could not handle his own child.

Of course, the house was all a-titter with word of Mrs. Carson's return and her subsequent interment at the hospital; the woman had writ herself quite a legend. Violet had never been taken in by any of her sob stories, nor had she really cared at all for the woman. So her husband had died, so she'd had to begin working in service, so she'd been 'assaulted' by the housekeeper, so she married the sodding butler, so she'd had a miscarriage, then two, then three… and then she was gone. It had been so beautifully peaceful without her. But now she was back and causing troubles and mischief again.

Violet was ready to lay down the law, and god help anyone that stood in her way.

And now, because of Cora's misplaced generosity, the wench was in a private room in the hospital! How _bloody_ **_dare_** she?

"Lady Grantham," Dr. Clarkson said as he came down the corridor, file in hand, "I did not know to expect you – I'm tidying the last of my files before I leave for South Africa."

"Abandoning Mrs. Carson, are you?" Violet inquired ascerbically.

Dr. Clarkson smiled a little. "My colleague, Dr. Henderson, is coming from London to take over my practice while I'm away," he explained patiently. "Mrs. Carson should be well enough for visitors today, but I was hoping Mr. Carson would beat anyone else –"

"Mrs. Carson and I must have a little chat," Violet said.

Dr. Clarkson narrowed his eyes. "You'll not be trying to make her feel any worse, now will you, m'lady?" he inquired. "She's had a narrow escape from death. You mustn't –"

"Why must everyone be so obsessed with Mrs. Carson's health?" Violet snapped. "The woman is a servant. If I had a cold, no one would be so worried –"

"A cold is rather different than what Mrs. Carson has gone through," Dr. Clarkson sighed. Violet wanted to punch him in the face, but a lady wasn't meant to do such vulgar things.

"We shall see," Violet said, gritting her teeth together. "She has managed to con her way out of doing many days' work and my daughter-in-law cheerfully still hands over her wages without thought –"

"Mrs. Carson, when she is able, does the work of three women," Dr. Clarkson argued. "That caused her to lose three pregnancies, m'lady – pardon my taking offense at you inferring that she is lazy."

"I will not give you pardon," Violet huffed. "Nor will I listen to you make excuses for the…" She ran through her entire mental vocabulary in five seconds – 'hussy', 'whore', 'slapper', 'slut', 'waste of breath', 'waste of space', 'lazy selfish cow' – and finally settled. " _That woman_ ," she finally finished with venom. "She is paid to do a job and she does not do it. I don't honestly know why the entire world hasn't collapsed with the way the higher classes are treated!"

"That woman has only just had surgery," Dr. Clarkson pointed out rather impatiently, "four days ago, and she's only just regained consciousness this morning. I would like to think that you –"

"And who exactly is paying her bill?" Violet shot back. "I will bet hard money that it is the Grantham estate –"

"You would be wrong, m'lady – Mrs. Carson's aunt has footed the bill, and will be forcing a suit of malpractice against the doctor whose surgery I was forced to correct," Dr. Clarkson snapped. "So please stop your insinuations which have no basis in fact. Mrs. Carson is very unwell and should not be released to work for at least eight weeks, if not more. She may never regain full mobility or be able to do the extra work that she's always done in the past. All because the doctor that did her emergency hysterectomy – removal of the womb, m'lady – did damage to a nerve cluster near the base of her spine. She is lucky to be able to walk. I would ask you to hold a civil tongue in your head; Mrs. Carson is not well and she may never be quite well again."

"I don't see that that is any problem of mine," Violet muttered indignantly. "The woman lowers the value of my son's household merely by being a part of it – she is a piece of work, Dr. Clarkson, and whoever saw fit to hire her in the first place should be sacked!"

"She's dead." The voice behind Violet was low, heavy, and full of betrayal. Violet turned to see Carson standing there, a pot of white poinsettia in his hands. "My mother hired Elsie, Lady Grantham. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see my wife."

And for the first time, seeing his face, Violet understood that she had well and truly overstepped.

* * *

"Hello, my love," Charles said softly, crossing the room to place the poinsettia on Elsie's bedside table. "It's Christmas Eve," he added gently.

She turned her head and looked at him with tired, sad eyes. "Is it? Has it snowed?"

"It did yesterday," he said, lowering himself into the chair at her bedside. "How are you feeling?"

"Miserable," she murmured. "How is Gracie?"

He took her hand, kissed her knuckles, smiled. "Her Ladyship called up a wet nurse and Gracie is thriving," Charles said. "Fiona has been caring for her when she's not with the wet nurse. She's a very good sister, Elsie –"

Elsie nodded and closed her eyes.

"Are you tired, love?"

"It doesn't matter if I am or not," Elsie murmured. "I cannot do anything but lie here in bed and be a lazy lump anyway. I'm forbidden from even rolling onto my side. Dr. Clarkson says I might pop my stitches, which is probably where I got the infection before."

"I am sorry," he said, clasping her hand between both of his, dwarfing it.

"For what, you daft man?" Elsie said, frowning.

"My part of the argument – I never meant to…"

"It's forgotten," she murmured. "You were right. I should never have taken the opium."

He paused, hesitant to tell her that she was highly dosed with morphine to keep her pain-free and immobile. She sighed and frowned at him. "Well, I can still be sorry for my part in making things worse –"

She shrugged her shoulders and sighed again. "None of this is your fault. If I hadn't gone and gotten with child, none of this would have happened. It's my fault, Charles. I'm absolving you of it all; if you want, you can toss me out. I'm no good to anyone like this. I might as well go to Jessop House, same as our Becky."

"Elsie, what on earth –"

"I cannae feel my legs," Elsie admitted. "You don't want to be married to a cripple, Charlie. Dr. Clarkson said it might happen, didn't he? And it has. So I wouldn't blame you if you just sent me away now."

"He also said it would be temporary, just a side effect of the surgery itself and the drugs," he reminded her gently. "Don't be so melodramatic, Elsie – it doesn't suit you."

"I heard her," Elsie whispered. "Lady Violet, in the corridor."

"You'd have to be deaf not to," Charles muttered, suddenly furious that the Dowager had upset his wife so very much that she was ready to give up entirely. "She was wrong, Elsie. All of it."

Elsie shook her head and looked away from him. "But she isn't. It hurts because it's true. I am worthless to the Family now; I cannae do anything – how am I to earn my keep?"

"You should not be worrying about any of that right now," Charles scolded in a gentle tone. "You should be worrying about getting better, so you can come home to our girls."

"Your girls," she corrected. "They are yours."

"Ours, Elsie Carson – they are ours."

She pulled her hand away from his, crossing her arms defensively across her body. "They would both be better off without me," she whispered. "I am no fine catch, Charles. I never was. I don't know what you ever saw in me –"

"Everything," he whispered. "I'd never loved anyone since Alice, not even Fiona, properly. But you came into my life, all smiles and kindness, and you gave my Fiona something that I could not, and I found myself under your spell, my beautiful love. To find that you cared for me, too… I am the luckiest man alive, Elsie Hughes. I am lucky because you have loved me. Whether or not you believe me is of no consequence, but it is the truth. I want you to come home with me, to our rooms, to our family. I want you to be happy, Elsie – that is all I've ever wanted."

"We'll probably lose our jobs," she sniffled miserably.

"Then we'll go find new ones," he promised. "I will take care of our girls and our Becky –" He didn't dare mention that Lady Cora was already making arrangements for Becky to leave Jessop House and come closer, to a care facility in York; he didn't dare mention that Lady Cora had been most accommodating, caring, and kind, despite the absolute bear he had been. Merely having Elsie back, near to him, was enough to soften him, to make him more reasonable. He understood now; she was truly his better half, constantly, gently, maneuvering him into a better position. Without Elsie, he was not a very good person.

"What good am I going to be to you or the girls if I cannae walk?" Elsie whispered.

"It will come back in time," Charles avowed. "It will – it just takes time," he added when she eyed him doubtfully. "And meanwhile, I will begin making inquiries about a walking stick –"

"You will never!" she snapped. "The last thing I want is to seem old enough to look an old crone – even if I might need it."

"It's either a walking stick or a wheelchair," he pointed out gently. "You will need help, possibly for a lifetime, Elsie. And there is no one in the world who wants to help you more than I."

She swallowed hard, refused to meet his eyes. "I wish you didn't love me, Charlie," Elsie whispered. "It makes everything so much worse."

"Well, you're stuck with me – you cannot get rid of me now," he murmured, gently turning her chin so she looked at him directly. "We will get through this, Elsie. Together."

It took a moment, a hesitation he wished he could erase, but her voice was low, soft, full of reverence and a longing desire when she breathed almost inaudibly, "Yes… together."

It almost broke his heart.

END PART TWENTY-FOUR


	25. Chapter 25

Twenty-five:  
Christmas Day

"I'm going to hospital in the morning," Fiona said to Beryl as she changed into her nightgown and heavy long socks. "I don't want the first thing mum sees to be a nurse. Dad said she feels bad enough already."

"Oh, I expect she does," Beryl agreed, nibbling on a piece of shortbread. "It's got to be hard, bein' rushed about and cut open."

"She was asleep when I went earlier," Fiona murmured. "I didn't want to disturb her. Dr. Clarkson says she needs her rest. But I'm scared, Auntie Beryl. I'm scared for my mum."

"We all are, darling," Beryl said gently. "Now, get into bed and try to get some rest, dear heart. You're tired to the bone after helping with your sister all day."

Fiona frowned; she hadn't talked to her father since earlier, when they'd gone to war over her having used the wrong blanket to wrap the baby in, and Gracie had gotten cold in the meanwhile. Lesson learned: her dad clearly loved the baby more than he did Fiona. It shouldn't have hurt after all this time, but the knowledge that if her mum died, she would always be second best stung. So she had begged Beryl to let her move into her room for the time being.

She was cold and tired, but she didn't feel alone anymore.

* * *

Elsie was cold and tired, but she didn't feel alone anymore. It was an odd realization that came to her as she began to wake up, and by the time she opened her eyes, she understood why: Fiona had crawled into the tiny hospital bed with her. Her daughter was curled carefully around her, protectively, barely on the bed at all, humming very softly under her breath. It was the humming that had brought Elsie out of sleep, rather than the presence of Fiona – because for so many, many years, they had shared a bed together anyway.

"Good morning," Elsie whispered.

"Happy Christmas, mum," Fiona murmured. "Auntie Beryl will be here soon – she's bringing you some broth for breakfast."

"Oh, bless her," Elsie said softly. "My dearest girl, can you run and get a nurse? And then stay out in the corridor?"

"Are you in pain, mum?"

"No, but I've got to use the bedpan, love, and that you do not need to see," Elsie sighed. "It's complicated and painful for everyone involved and I don't want you to think less of me."

"All right, mummy," Fiona murmured, giving her a last cuddle before she got up and adjusted her hair and dress. "Do you feel any better? Dad said – he said you were very upset yesterday."

"I'm all right," Elsie lied. "You go wait and I'll be ready soon."

It was nearly forty minutes before the nurse let Fiona back in; she wasn't alone, however. Beryl came bustling in, too, with broth and plain scones in her basket. "Now, you," Beryl said, "I know you've been through the wars and back, but I wanted to bring you a good Christmas breakfast that will make you feel better. Dr. Clarkson says you need to eat, so eat you will!"

"That's a terrible lot of food," Elsie pointed out gently. "I can't eat it all in one go –"

"Well, eat what you can and then we'll hold the rest back for the other meals," Fiona said, pulling up a second chair.

"How are you feeling?" Beryl asked. "And don't give me none of the nonsense you're peddling to our Charlie –"

"I feel dreadful," Elsie admitted very quietly. "Everything aches – it doesn't hurt, not really – and I cannae move my feet or legs without help. I feel like I'm a horrible burden…"

"You never do!" Beryl cried. "Elsie Carson, you pull yourself together – you'll be right as rain in no time, stalking around the big house, giving orders, barking at them what don't do their jobs right or fast enough…"

Elsie frowned and shook her head. "Not if I can't get feelin' back in me legs, Beryl."

"Oh, darling," Beryl sighed, "lord knows you can yell at people without walking."

Elsie paused, tears in her eyes as she laughed in sad disbelief. "Oh, Beryl… this is all so…"

"Big and abrupt and scary," Beryl finished for her. "I know, Elsie. But it will be all right. Our Charlie will make sure it's all right. And if it won't be, he'll do what it takes to make it better. He loves you like a stupid man, you know. He'd do anythin' to make sure you're happy."

"Aye… but that's what I'm afraid of," Elsie admitted. "I don't want things to go pear-shaped and then him resent me down the line because I was the whole reason he sacrificed –"

"Mum," Fiona spoke up, "I don't think it matters. Dad wouldn't resent you. He wasn't ever happy till you came along. He never smiled, and he never laughed… you make him happy."

"But being happy isn't the entirety of the world," Elsie said, wishing she could make them see how desperately unhappy she was, feeding on their pity and their good wishes instead of being up and about and independent. She didn't want to be doted upon –

"No, maybe not," came Charles's voice from the doorway, where he stood with Gracie in his arms. The baby was utterly swaddled in blankets and one of Elsie's many fine coats, and he looked chilly but pleased with himself. "But happiness is such an important part of the world. Isn't that right, Gracie, dear? Aren't you happy to come see mummy?" The baby cooed and burbled in response, then let out a happy shriek of glee.

"Charles, what on earth have you done to my coat?" Elsie gasped.

"Oh, hush, no harm done," Charles said with a small smile. "It's the one you were going to retire in the spring anyway – but it still smells of you and it calmed our Gracie in the night. She misses you very much, you know."

"Oh, bring her here," Elsie sighed, frowning a little. The man was hopeless when it came to children; she could see it vividly now. He laid the bundle of blankets down in her arms and she uncovered her precious daughter's face. "Hello, love," Elsie murmured. "I missed you, too." Gracie smiled up at her and squealed with the utter bliss that only a tiny child could express freely.

She leaned down and kissed her daughter's forehead, and the baby's small hands reached up and splayed across Elsie's cheeks, an answering laugh bubbling up in Elsie's throat as she was embraced such as it was by her bairn.

"She wouldn't settle until I wrapped her in your shawl and the coat," Charles admitted quietly. "I felt like such a bad father – until I realized she only wanted her mummy."

Elsie sighed and looked at him sadly. "Oh, Charlie," she breathed, "you are not a bad father – you're anything but, love."

She was a bit surprised when he tilted her chin up and gave her a gentle – but passionate – kiss. "I love you, Elsie," he whispered against her lips. "Happy Christmas, my love."

A sudden choked sob drew both their attentions to Fiona, whose face was buried in Beryl's neck whilst the cook looked both angry and bewildered. "I'm sorry," Fiona wailed, getting up and attempting to run from the room. Charles caught her before she could leave, and she struggled with his grip upon her hand for a moment before her arm went limp and she seemed to sag with misery.

"Oh love, my darling girl, come here," Elsie murmured. "Come tell me what's wrong – please –"

"It's not you that's the problem, mum," Fiona cried, "it's him. It's always him. He doesn't care what happens to me – he loves you and he loves Gracie." She glared defiantly at her father through her tears. "He couldn't give a toss what happens to me – he never has."

"That's not true," Elsie argued.

"You didn't know him, before," Fiona said. "He wouldn't hardly look at me; he'd leave me with granny and Beryl and do whatever and the only time he spent with me was at bedtime."

"I was trying to provide for you," Charles said. "Pardon me for –"

"Don't lord that over my head," Fiona ground out through clenched teeth. "When I was sick, you never came to see me –"

"Because I couldn't pass disease from you to His Lordship," Charles said pointedly.

"You put everyone else first," Fiona shot back. "Always. You've never once asked me what I wanted: you just assumed that I'd be pleased to be second best. To have the second best clothes, to have the second best shoes, to have the second best spot next to your perfect little girl with mum. Well, I can't take it anymore, dad. I can't."

Beryl cleared her throat. "I should get back to the big house," she said. "I'll have cocoa and biscuits waiting, Fiona, lovey."

"I should go with you," Fiona mumbled. "At least you want me around."

"Charles, say something," Elsie ordered, feeling the situation sliding precariously out of control. If she lost Fiona, especially now, she would be going back down that rabbit's hole of dark despair. "CHARLIE CARSON –"

"Obviously, I'm a worse father than I thought," Charles said very quietly, releasing Fiona's hand. "And I thought I was… terrible." He turned his back on all of them, trying to collect himself. "I love you, Fiona, I just – I – I don't know how to show it. You've always been so happy, so strong, and you preferred Elsie and Beryl's company to mine, so I allowed you your freedom with them, rather than inflicting myself on you."

"All I ever wanted was for you to love me and be proud of me," Fiona said, her voice full of infinite sadness. "Even when I won that writing contest, you just said, 'but of course, writing won't pay the bills'."

"I didn't want you to pin all your hopes on a dream, like I had," Charles whispered. "I only wanted something better for you, Fiona –"

"Well, I wanted you and mum and me to be happy – I thought we might be, but then she left and you started acting like –"

"I'm well aware," Charles muttered dismally.

Beryl chose that moment to make her escape. Elsie wanted to make hers, but seeing as how she wasn't going anywhere any time quickly, she merely sighed and closed her eyes. Fiona watched her with concern, if not outright alarm, and Elsie was quick to assure her, "I'm all right, love."

Charles turned back to face them, tears streaming down his face; it was enough to startle them both. The stalwart butler never cried anywhere he could be seen by others. Elsie had often heard him weeping behind closed doors, and she had never invaded his privacy. For him to be so shaken that he would cry in public, Fiona's accusations had pierced him straight to the core.

"I only ever wanted what was best for you, Fiona," he sobbed miserably. "I want you to be happy – I never meant to hurt you – I never meant –"

Fiona crumbled, bursting into tears again and rushing into his arms. "Daddy," she sobbed, "I'm sorry –"

He held her close, and Elsie wiped away tears of her own, looking down at Gracie, who was sucking on an edge of the shawl. "Oh, darling, your daddy and big sister are so stubborn," she murmured. "And I'm sure you'll grow up just the same way – maybe more so because your mammy is more pig-headed than your da."

And she watched them slowly begin to heal wounds that had been exposed long before she had ever known Charles and Fiona. She was proud of them, her man and his little girl, but not so proud to pin her hat on there not being a similar fight in future. They were both too stubborn and too proud for their own good.

* * *

"Why must we go to the hospital and see Mrs. Carson, mama?" Mary asked, wrinkling her nose disdainfully. She was eleven and her elocution and deportment lessons – as well as her training as a young lady to take over a household – had left her with a snobbish air about her.

"Because, dear," Cora said patiently, "Mrs. Carson is very ill and you wouldn't like to be alone on Christmas Day, would you?" When Mary shook her head delicately, Cora added, "Then why should she?"

"She is the housekeeper," Mary replied as if the word was dirty.

"She is my friend," Cora said sharply. "You would do well to find such a friend as Mrs. Carson, Mary."

"Mrs. Carson is nice," Edith said. "She used to read to me before she went away."

"She gave me a dolly for Christmas," Sybil piped up. "I like Mrs. Carson a lot, mama."

"Well, I think she will be pleased to see all three of you," Cora said. "Give us a twirl, then –"

"But, mama, surely we shouldn't wear our Sunday best to see a servant?" Mary asked with a frown.

"And why not?" Cora replied. "Why not show Mrs. Carson that she is valued and appreciated?"

"What would Granny say?" Mary asked.

"I don't care what Granny would say – she has said far more than enough on the subject of Mrs. Carson than is proper," Cora snapped. "Now, put on your coats, girls." She looked over at the under butler and said, "Johnson, have you loaded the gifts for Mrs. Carson into the coach?"

"Yes, m'lady."

"Good. Thank you. We will return for luncheon," Cora said, pulling on her gloves and waiting for her maid to wrap her up in her fur and wool coat, same as the girls were being done by nanny. "Please see to it that Mrs. Patmore has hot cider ready when we return."

"Yes, m'lady."

She waited impatiently for the girls to be ready – but, then again, dressing children always seemed to take more time. Sybil, in particular, was a bouncy, rowdy little thing… until she was with Mrs. Carson, who soothed her and smoothed out her wrinkles and enthusiasm, directing it somewhere more constructive. Cora really didn't know what she would do without Elsie in the household; now that she had left and come back, she had seen the utter chaos that would ensue, and she did not like it at all. No, no, best to keep Mrs. Carson close and well-provided for so she would not possibly want to leave again.

It was frightening, being dependent so much on one person.

With guilt, she realized that her dependence on Mrs. Carson was far more even than her reliance upon her husband. If he were to die, she could marry again – but to lose the Carsons… it would be beyond devastating.

The coach ride into the village was full of excited chatter from Edith and Sybil, while Mary stayed stubbornly silent, wishing she could obviously refuse to participate in the Christmas visit to the hospital. Of course, she had been delighted with her new dresses and her painting portfolio, and the promise of a spring trip to New York with Grandmama, but she was disapproving of the housekeeper. Cora wondered, honestly, if she should speak to Violet about keeping her mouth shut around the children. It did them no favors to see their granny and their mother facing off about old ways vs. new ones.

Once inside the hospital, Mary regained a bit of her cheerfulness. She was clearly glad to be able to see Carson – of all the servants, he was her obvious favorite. "Mama, I did not mean to upset you," Mary said as they walked down the corridor. "I only meant –"

"I know what you meant, dear," Cora said with a sigh. "And I'm afraid that that is the problem. We'll discuss it later. Right now, I am insisting that you be the kind, sweet girl I know you can be and be pleasant to Mrs. Carson."

"Yes, mama," Mary said obediently.

"Now, let me go in first," Cora said, "and I will come collect you in a moment." She opened the door and watched the room startle. Carson jumped to his feet, baby Gracie and her bottle in his arms; Fiona immediately rose from her perch on Mrs. Carson's bed, and poor Mrs. Carson looked as dreadful and pale as Cora had ever seen her. "No, no, stay where you are," Cora said gently. "We're here as friends, not as the Ladies Grantham. Mrs. Carson, we wished to pay you a Christmas visit and bring you your gifts from the house."

"Gifts, m'lady?" Elsie asked softly. "I cannot accept –"

"Nonsense," Cora said in a firm voice. "Girls, come in and wish the Carsons a Happy Christmas."

"Mrs. Carson, Mrs. Carson," Sybil cried, rushing into the room and giggling, "mama gave me a new dress for the dolly you gave me last Christmas! Why are you in bed, Mrs. Carson?"

Elsie smiled sadly and reached out for the little girl's hand. "Because the doctor says I must stay in bed for a while, pet," she murmured. "Is your dolly's dress very grand?"

Sybil nodded and smiled. "It's gots lots of buttons, like mama's dresses do."

Cora watched Mary go over to Carson. "Whose baby is that?" she asked.

"She is Mrs. Carson's and mine, my lady," Charles said with obvious pride.

Mary gasped in horror. "Oh, mama, no – you cannot sack Mr. Carson –"

Cora pressed a hand to her lips. "Why on earth would I sack Carson, dear?"

"Because granny says that married servants cannot have babies or they'll be sacked! And Mr. and Mrs. Carson have a brand-new baby – oh, please don't sack them!" Mary sobbed, clearly overwhelmed.

"I am not letting anyone go!" Cora said with force. "And neither will I let granny do it, either – she doesn't live in the big house anymore and she has no voice in who is on staff. Besides, Fiona has grown up here with Mr. and Mrs. Carson as her very married parents…"

Mary blinked and looked over at Fiona, who had rejoined Elsie on the bed. "She is theirs?" she asked in disbelief. Of course, she had encountered the kitchen girl many times in her life, but it had never been made clear that she was a member of Carson's family to Cora's knowledge.

"I am, m'lady," Fiona said with a small smile. "Mr. Carson is my father. Mrs. Carson is my mum. And Gracie over there in dad's arms is my little sister."

"So you're not sacking Mr. and Mrs. Carson because they've already broken that rule?" Mary asked Cora, still confused and alarmed, but at least she'd stopped crying.

"Something like that, yes," Cora sighed. "I'm going to have a talk with your granny – she's quite unkind when she has a mind to be."

Edith strode up to Carson and said, "May I see your baby, Mr. Carson?" He lowered the bundle so Edith could see, and she squealed with delight. "She has such a little nose and a pretty face! She looks like Mrs. Carson!"

"She does, doesn't she?" Carson said with a smile.

Mary wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and murmured, "I am sorry for my unseemly display of –"

"Nonsense," Elsie said from her bed. "It is nice to know that someone cares, Lady Mary."

Cora carefully pulled out the bag that Elsie's gifts had been stuffed into. "I'm afraid it's the usual fabric and notions," Cora said, "but I did find a lovely patterned black brocade for you this year."

"Oh, it's lovely, m'lady," Elsie murmured with a smile. "I'll enjoy it very much."

"And… I have something for you to sign," Cora added, brandishing a folder.

"Sign, m'lady?"

"Yes – Mr. Carson and I have discussed the conditions of Jessop House and have found what we feel to be a better long-term facility for your sister in York," Cora said with a smile. "It is less expensive, and better managed. We just need your signature, and we can bring Miss Hughes come new year's."

Elsie stared up at her in wonder. "M'lady, I –"

"Don't say anything; just sign the paperwork," Cora said. "We've worked very hard with Mr. Murray to find these accommodations and negotiate with Jessop House to allow Miss Hughes to leave. She will be very happy at Althorp Manor, and you can take the train to see her on half days."

"I've not got a pen," Elsie pointed out.

Cora bit her lip and giggled. "Oh, silly me – I managed to get all the way here without pen and ink – let me go see Dr. Clarkson, then…"

"M'lady?" Elsie murmured. "Thank you. For coming, for caring – thank you."

Cora took Elsie's hand between hers and smiled for a moment before kissing it. "Speak nothing of it, Mrs. Carson. It is no more than what a friend does," she said gently.

She would do anything to protect her friends, for she had so few of them.

END PART TWENTY-FIVE


	26. Chapter 26

Twenty-six:  
A Breath of Fresh Air

 _March 1901_

Fiona helped Elsie get dressed – her mum's ability to do her own buttons even with the aid of a hook was still negligible. She tried and usually got upset, so Fiona had taken to just helping with the baby and the buttons and everything that still needed doing. She was going to York in a few days to begin her classes, but she didn't mind working every possible moment up till then.

Elsie was out of breath and in pain by the time she was dressed, but at least she was still breathing – however quickly. "Thank you, my darling girl," she murmured, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. "I don't know how I'll manage without you – I really don't."

"Maybe Auntie Beryl will help you?" Fiona suggested. "I'll talk to her and see if she might. She wants to help more, but she's afraid to ask if there's anything she can do – she doesn't want to offend you by offering."

"Oh, love, the last thing in the world I would be is offended by an offer of assistance," Elsie sighed.

"How are your legs today, mum?"

"Unsteady," Elsie admitted, her voice low and worried. "My right leg is numb to an extent, so I must have pinched the nerve in my sleep again. Nothing to be done for it, though – so I suppose I must use the walking stick today."

"Do you need any pain injections?" Fiona asked, worried. She knew her mum was stubborn and would resist them if at all possible, but she would be utterly miserable within hours. Elsie was back on very light duties, mostly writing out rotas and doing bookkeeping, but she still had issues if she was sitting or standing for very long. Most afternoons, she didn't work at all, retreating to bed with a hot water bottle and a bottle of aspirin.

"No, love, I'll be fine," Elsie murmured. "How is your sister today?"

"She's doing very well," Fiona said with a smile. "Nanny said she rolled over in the cot all by herself this morning."

"I hate that Her Ladyship is employing a nanny for us," Elsie sighed. "I should be able to care for my own bairn and –"

"And you cannot, so you must be glad of the help," Fiona interjected gently. "We've had this fight before, mum."

"I don't want to fight with you," Elsie sighed, sinking onto the bed and looking very small. "I don't understand why you and your father don't get along better when it's me you should be cross with – I'm the one that's pulled him away from you, I'm the one who insisted on having another child… all of this is my fault."

Fiona shook her head, losing a few hairpins with the violence of the shaking. "No, mum, no – you're the only mum I've ever had," she said quietly. "I remember how sad and lonely and scared I was when I was younger and threw my tantrum. I… I guess I feel like dad doesn't really understand that I'm not a little girl anymore."

"No, you really aren't," Elsie murmured. "You're quite the young lady – and you'll be a wonderful teacher, my darling girl."

Fiona frowned for a moment, then she asked, "Mum… did you fall in love with dad because of me?"

Elsie laughed a little then; not a real laugh, just something quick and awkward. "What a ridiculous question, Fiona," she said softly. "I fell in love with your father because he was gentle and kind to me when he had no reason to be. That horrible Potter woman was hurting both you and me behind closed doors, but he flew in the face of reason and was sweet, loving, and ever so kind to me… that's why I fell in love with him. You were part of the bargain, but you weren't the reason, my love." Elsie reached up and took Fiona's hand. "I didn't expect anyone to love me ever again. Not you and especially not your da."

"Does he care that I'm leaving?" Fiona asked. It never seemed like her father cared at all, despite everyone's assurances that he did. She wanted more, needed more, craved more from him; an indefinable more that probably didn't exist.

"He's very sad about you going, even though it's only until May," Elsie said softly. "And when you come back, you'll be moving into the teacher's cottage in the village – things won't ever be the same again, will they?"

Fiona frowned. "What am I going to do when I'm scared of the world, mum? I won't be able to come crawl into bed with you anymore –"

"You're always welcome in my bed," Elsie whispered; she was near tears, just as Fiona was. "Just like, no matter how old you are, you'll always be my little girl."

"Oh, mum…"

"You could be fifty years old and surrounded by wee'uns and I'd still consider you to be my little girl," Elsie said, holding up a hand and smiling sadly. "I'm scared to send you off to York by yourself, but you came all the way to Scotland to find me – so I must believe you'll be all right. Mustn't I?"

"Do you want to go upstairs to the nursery and see Gracie?" Fiona asked.

Elsie paused and Fiona knew she was going over a list of everything she needed to accomplish before she was too tired to keep going. But then her mother surprised her by nodding and murmuring, "There's nothing in the world I want more than to see Gracie with you, Fiona."

And with that, they both smiled.

* * *

Charles hated the rail station. Someone was either leaving him behind, or else he was the one leaving someone – or something – behind.

In this case, he was standing on the platform with Fiona's suitcase – one of his old pieces of travel gear from the road with Alice – clutched in one hand, his heart beating frantically with worry about sending his eldest child out into the world with little in the way of a safety net. Fiona's hand was tightly held in his other hand, and they stood quietly, waiting.

"It's only till May," Fiona finally said.

"And then you'll be back to start teaching," he pointed out gruffly, determined not to let her see him breaking down. If she saw him emotionally distraught, she might stay, and he did not want that in the slightest – she needed to go, to take the chance, to bloom with Lady Grantham's aid into a brilliant, beautiful flower. "It feels like I'll never see you again."

"I'd have thought you'd be pleased I'm going away," Fiona said. "Leaves you alone with mum and Gracie – and she can't talk back or disappoint you too badly or… or get in the way all the time like I do." Her voice was incredibly sad and small.

His heart ached for all the pain he'd managed to inflict on her over the years; and he squeezed her hand. "You aren't in the way," Charles said. "And I've never been so very proud of you as I am right now – you're beginning a new life, Fiona. A new life that will be wonderful. I just wish I could come with you to York and protect you like a father should."

"I'll be all right," Fiona murmured. "It's only till May. And then I'll be home. You'll watch out for mum, right? You know she doesn't get enough rest and she's working too hard already."

"I know, but that woman is far more stubborn than I am –"

"Just get nanny to bring Gracie down whenever she's behaving badly," Fiona advised. "She always stops for the baby."

"What are we going to do without you, my darling girl?" he asked, not daring to look at her for fear of breaking down completely.

She sighed and squeezed his hand. "You haven't called me that since I was ten," Fiona murmured.

"I should have called you that every day of your life," Charles said. "I've been a dreadful father, and there is nothing I can do to apologize enough for –"

"Daddy, it's going to be all right," Fiona said. "I'm sorry I was such a disappointing child –"

"You never have been," he said with a sad sigh. "You're my beautiful, brilliant daughter, and I am so proud of you, Fiona Carson."

The train pulled into the station and he toyed with the idea of keeping her there, not allowing her to leave, begging her to stay… but instead, he helped her into her cabin and watched the train pulling away from him, taking a piece of his heart with it.

The walk back to the big house was a lonely one.

* * *

Elsie watched Charles walking around the room with Gracie in his arms, cooing at her in his big rumbling voice and decided that she could not possibly love the man anymore than she did in that moment. Gracie was watching him with delight, her little head lifted up from his shoulder as she fought sleep.

The arrangement was for a nanny during the day, and as soon as Charles was done for the day – about nine, since they were not entertaining with Lord Grantham away at war – he would collect Gracie from the nursery and bring her home for the night if Elsie had not already rung for nanny to do it. Tonight, the tiny girl was overexcited and fighting rest like a fiendish wee beastie.

"Oh, bring her here," Elsie sighed. "She's never going to go to bed at this rate, you daft man."

Charles raised an eyebrow, then said, "I'm certain you can do better, Mrs. Carson, but she will settle in a few moments' time –"

Gracie let out a shrieking giggle and Elsie gave him a dirty look from their bed. "Da means playtime," Elsie pointed out dryly. "She thinks you're playing with her. Bring her here, Charlie." She didn't give him an option to say no; lord knows the man would argue with her over the smallest things just to avoid giving their daughter up for a moment.

Once the baby was safely and snugly in her mother's arms, she settled a bit and yawned. "Aye, there's mammy's little girl," Elsie soothed. "Mammy's good, tired girl, aye?" She rubbed the baby's back and held her close, humming. It wasn't five minutes before she drifted off, and another ten before Elsie was letting Charles put her back into her cot.

"I didn't want to upset you," Charles said. "You've been in a lot of pain today and I would have gotten her off to Nod eventually anyway –"

"Not like that you wouldn't have," Elsie scoffed. "Besides, she's not heavy enough yet to make things worse. It's fine." She smiled up at him bravely, but she knew he'd see through the dark circles under her eyes and realize that she'd been flopping about in their bed like a dying fish while he slept on the sofa in the main room. It was just so difficult to be comfortable and stay asleep at the same time; bits of her would ache, then throb, then she would move into a new position and sleep for a few minutes before the cycle started anew.

"Are you all right, my love?" Charles asked gently. "Do we need to do an injection or –"

She bit her lip. He'd been so good after her surgery, seeing her up to her eyeballs in morphine to keep her still and sedated so her body could heal. Now that she was up and about and in pain again, he wanted to do anything to make that pain stop. She was back on the occasional shot of opium, but never enough to do anything more than take the pain away temporarily. Elsie swallowed hard, wanting to take him up on his offer but at the same time knowing that it was a slippery slope and every time she dosed, her tolerance for the drug went up, so each subsequent dosage must be higher. Suffering in silence might be better.

"Elsie?"

"I'll be all right," she said, biting her lip. "Have you been comfortable on the sofa?"

"No," he admitted, "but I will be all right, so long as you are."

"Well, then I have to be, don't I?" she asked with a tiny smile. He didn't smile back, so she faltered a bit in her bravado. Almost enough to tell him the truth: she didn't sleep well without him, and she never had done. "Thank you for your help today, Charlie. I don't know why Her Ladyship keeps me on when I'm not in any shape to be working like I should be –"

"Because you have done more for this household than even she will acknowledge," Charles said softly. "Now budge up, love, and take the covers down for a minute." She did as he ordered, wondering briefly what he was up to before he put one of her feet in its heavy striped sock (that she had originally knitted for Fiona but had kept for herself) in his lap. He gently massaged it, and she felt some of the tension in her spine and legs begin to lessen. She couldn't hold back a moan, though if it was of torture or pleasure, she didn't know.

By the time he finished with her other foot, giving it the same tender treatment as the first, she knew. It was pure pleasure that was escaping her lips, the torment of having someone so close after an enforced separation…

He, of course, was amused by her – bloody daft man. She whimpered when he withdrew his hands, leaving her feet propped up on one of his thighs. "Charlie," she murmured. She'd been cleared to resume 'marital activities' weeks before. He knew that: he'd been in the bloody room when the doctor had done it, making her blush and him stammer and cough at the inappropriateness of the conversation. But all the time since, she'd been terrified of letting him see her. She didn't want to frighten him away completely; her belly was a mass of scars and her legs were almost always swollen from the pressure of standing on them with damaged nerves. She wasn't anything like she had been before Gracie, and the thought that he could still want her in spite of all that was laughable.

"Yes, my love?" he said softly.

"Stop. _Please_."

"Am I hurting you?"

"No," she breathed, "quite the opposite –"

"Why do you want me to stop? If it feels lovely…"

"It feels divine," she confessed. "But we need to stop before we go too far and I offend you –"

"Elsie, what are you on about? I'm not going to be offended by you –"

She looked away from him and said, "I'm not pretty anymore, Charles. Everything's messed up below my breasts and it'll never be the way it was again –"

"Battle scars," Charles said, his hand gently slipping below her nightdress and stroking her thigh, just above her knee. "You're my brave warrior, Elsie Carson – fearless and beautiful…"

"You are such a daft beggar," she sighed. "You don't know what you're asking, love."

"I am just asking you to let me love you," Charles said, a sad smile on his lips. "Let me help take the pain away for a few minutes, Elsie. Please."

She knew, deep in her gut, that her fears were irrational, that he wouldn't leave her just because she had a few scars, but they were still crippling fears that gripped her and held tightly, not letting her go. Why else was she still keeping him on the sofa at night when they so desperately needed one another even to sleep soundly? Why was she holding him at arm's length when he was offering himself to her in the most gentle, loving way possible? Why did she feel so much abject terror and want in the same space in her heart?

Biting her lip nervously, hands quaking with the struggle of holding those terrifying fears at bay, Elsie held out her hand to him. When he took it, she whispered, "Just promise me that if it doesn't help, you won't be upset with yourself or me for it – all right?"

"Why on earth would I be upset with you?" Charles asked, gently caressing her knee.

She took a deep, shaky breath, trying not to show him that she was already feeling his effect on her. "The doctor said I might never recover all the feeling, well… down there," Elsie admitted, blushing.

Charles smiled and said cheerfully, "That just means I must work more diligently to please my lovely lady wife."

She reached down and stilled his hand beneath her nightdress. "Charles, I mean it," Elsie said, worriedly. "I'm damaged goods and I'm afraid that you'll be very disappointed in what I can offer you –"

"Elsie," he said with exaggerated patience, drawing the syllables out from two into a nearly drawling three, "I am not taking anything you have up on offer." He leaned and gently kissed the tip of her nose. "I am offering to please you and nothing more, my love."

Her voice wavered and she whispered, "I don't know if you'll be able to."

"Then I shall try my best," Charles promised. "And if I hurt you in any way, just tell me and I will stop."

She bit her lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, but she nodded her assent. For the longest time, he just gently rubbed circles around her knee, knowing it was the one that was swollen worst and hurt the worst when it bore weight. Then his hand moved further up her leg, tangling in the cotton of her nightdress.

"May I?" he asked in that sweet, reverent tone of his.

She nodded and he gently pushed the hem of her nightdress up around her hips. She closed her eyes tightly, determined not to watch his face if he became upset or disgusted with her in any way. But closing her eyes made all the soft touches, the gentleness, the bliss of his fingers dancing across swollen skin and muscle raising gooseflesh in their wake, so much more intense. She could feel everything from the lightest touch to the heavy pressure of his tongue against her most intimate parts as he drank her in.

If anything, her sensation was heightened rather than the deadened the doctor had warned her against. The constant pain made the pleasure incredibly intense, blinding, and she tangled her fingers in his hair as his lips and tongue brought relief from the agony, leaving only bliss in his wake. " _Oh god_!" she cried, the blasphemy falling from her lips as he tugged on the little bud at the apex of her sex, making her convulse and sob as her body clenched and released. "Charlie – oh –"

He didn't stop until she screamed, her climax so forceful that she could not hold back a pain-mingled cry of pleasure that shook the walls. And then she went limp, her body like aspic or weak jelly that could not hold itself together.

She panted and tried to catch her breath, eyes still tightly closed, until Charles murmured, "Open your eyes, Elsie." She did, blinking him back into blurry focus. "You have never been more beautiful to me," he whispered, cradling her face in his hands and kissing her gently. She deepened the kiss, tasting herself on his lips, his tongue, in his heart and soul…

And she knew his words to be truth.

She wept with relief; relief that her Charlie still loved her, temporary relief from the constant pain, relief that she was still capable of physically loving him…

He held her long after she fell asleep.

END PART TWENTY-SIX


	27. Chapter 27

Twenty-seven:  
Letters from Home

* * *

 _19 March, 1901_

 _Dear mum, dad, and Gracie;_

 _I have arrived in York and unpacked my things. The room the teaching college has given me to use is very small – even smaller than the shared scullery maids' quarters at Downton. I've got just enough room for a half-pallet mattress (which rests upon a sliding set of drawers that functions as a dresser), a washstand, and a very small space to put my shoes by the door. The pillows are not so fine as we have at home, nor the bed coverings, and I feel very much that I am a stranger in a strange place._

 _My classes are going well; I am at the top of the literature, Latin, and French classes, middling at history, geometry, and social economics, and I am being tutored by Mrs. Langston in algebra and basic sciences, as they were not as well taught as they might like. I must pass those classes in order to get my certification. I am the youngest student here, which is why I have the room that is smaller than the closet Gracie and I share, and why there is a watchman posted in the corridor at night._

 _I am going to have tea with Aunt Becky after church on Sunday. I've bought some biscuits to take with the pocket money dad gave me at the station (and there is still some pocket money left for our next visit so I might get chocolates then), and I hope she will be happy to see me._

 _I miss you all and I love you!_

 _Your girl,_  
 _Fiona_

* * *

 _5 April, 1901_

 _Dear Fiona,_

 _The baker's boy asked of you after church. I think he thinks fondly of you and you must discourage him if you want to pursue a career in teaching, my darling girl. Besides, you are much too young to encourage gentlemen to set their caps in your direction._

 _Gracie is beginning to crawl; nanny can hardly keep up with her now, and I certainly cannot. I wonder if she is looking for you, darling, because she looks so very forlorn when she comes around a chair or the sofa and there is no one there. She misses you, as your father and I do._

 _I am pleased to hear that your classes are progressing well. Your father and I are very proud of you and have no doubt that you will come home with your teaching certification. Just remember to take the time to sleep and not to do as you normally do and continue pottering to all hours of the day and night._

 _I love you, my darling girl._

 _With all my love and blessings,_  
 _your mam_

* * *

 _5 April, 1901_

 _My darling girl;_

 _Your mum says she is sending you a letter, and I begged that she might hold off long enough for me to scribble down a few things._

 _Firstly, I am glad to hear that you are well, if not slightly cramped in your lodgings. We must always remember that the grandeur that we are used to living in at Downton does not spill over into the rest of the world. We are humble people of humble stock, and we merely inhabit such a world._

 _Secondly, seeing as how you've already spent the majority of your pocket money on your Aunt Becky, I am sending more in this letter. You are entirely too kind and selfless, Fiona, and I wish you to have what you need even when you've given everything away to others._

 _Thirdly, I've not yet told your mum, but we are coming to visit you and Becky on April 30th. Please mark your calendar and make sure to communicate it to your teachers so we might have a visit without you being held in contempt for not being in class. Gracie, your mother, and I all miss you dreadfully. Beryl misses you even more, if such a thing is possible. I am ashamed to say that the big house is not the same without you in it._

 _Do not give your pocket money away._

 _Love,_  
 _your father_

* * *

 _23 April, 1901_

 _Dear dad;_

 _I wanted to write to you separately from mum because I know she's always busy with Gracie, but I'm worried about her. She hasn't written like she promised and I just want to know that she's all right. I know that you're busy as well, but… I just need to know._

 _Classes remain just as before – boring for the most part, now that I understand the mechanics of algebra and science a bit better. Am I the only one that thinks science is rather like Auntie Beryl in the kitchen, throwing things at the wall until they stick?_

 _I miss you all so very much,_  
 _Fiona_

* * *

 _26 April, 1901_

 _Dearest Fiona;_

 _Mum has had many bad days mixed in with the good few. She did not write because she did not want to worry you with her 'whinging' and 'self-pitying'; I have, of course, told her that you are worried because she did not write, which led to rather a long shouting match. Your mum continues to be unwell and Dr. Henderson has prescribed a regimen of exercise and morphine that made her send him to the floor, cowering from fear that she would rip him apart. It is nice to know that she has enough spirit for two women, but must she show it at the most inopportune moments?_

 _She is greatly looking forward to our visit to York: please do not tell her that I have written to you about her illness, my dear, or she might have my guts for garters._

 _Much love,_  
 _your much suffering father_

* * *

 _April 1901_

Fiona burst out of the teaching college as soon as she saw her father approaching. She knew she didn't look very much like a young lady as she threw her arms around him and wept with joy. "Daddy," she whispered, "I've missed you so much – where are mum and Gracie?"

"Mum took a turn last night," Charles said softly, holding her close, "and she's at the hotel with Gracie. She said I should go ahead with the visit and take you and Becky out for tea –"

"No!" Fiona yelped sharply. "No, we'll go visit mum," she said. "I want to see mum, dad."

"Sweetheart, she's in no shape to –"

"I don't care, and neither will Aunt Becky," Fiona said firmly. "We want to see her."

Charles sighed. "It's more than my life is worth…"

"She wasn't happy when you left, was she?" Fiona asked. "Then let me make her happy."

Charles sighed again, then said, "Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes, and I must be back by eight," Fiona said with a small smile. "They know I am spending the day with my family, or I would have to be back by five."

He took her arm, tenderly, fatherly tucking it around his as they walked down the cobblestones. "We have missed you very much, Fiona," he said softly.

"And I've missed you," Fiona replied with a smile. "I think I will be content to get my certification and return home to Downton forever, daddy. I shouldn't like to leave you and mum and Gracie too long."

He sounded very choked up as he said, "And we shouldn't like to lose you for very long, my darling girl."

END PART TWENTY-SEVEN


	28. Chapter 28

Twenty-eight:  
Home Again

 _May 1901_

Charles gently smoothed Elsie's hair back out of her face, whispering soft words of love as he did so. She was still shaking and crying; he'd found her at the bottom of the flight of stairs that led to the attics, her head bleeding and her hands shaking. She'd been up in the servants' quarters, inventorying the linens. It had been a bad fall, then, more than ten stairs, if she was at the bottom and banged up like that. His panic had been so great he'd rushed her to their rooms and dropped her into bed immediately, not waiting for the doctor to be sent for.

"Please tell me you won't refuse the morphine now," he pleaded quietly. "Please, Elsie."

"I don't want to be that woman," she whispered shakily. "The one you hate because I'm taking something you despise so much –"

He swallowed hard and took her shaking hands in his, willing her to calm down and focus, to see reason. "Elsie, love," he whispered, "I won't hate you, not ever. Especially not now, not after all this, my love. I love you so much and seeing you in pain – seeing you get hurt worse because you're afraid I won't love you – is killing me, darling."

"The pain was so bad I fainted," she murmured. "And I could feel myself falling and couldn't stop it. Just imagine if I'd had Gracie in my arms, Charles – god, I could have killed her…"

"You almost killed yourself," he snapped. She stared at him, alarmed. "Elsie, please listen to me, love. I need you to be okay. I need you to be reasonable and take the damn morphine that the doctor is trying to give you. We can worry later about the rest. Just please…"

She looked away from him. "I don't expect you to understand, Charles –"

"I don't understand how you can do this to yourself day in and day out and expect my sympathy – no, demand my sympathy, Elsie – when you're in pain," he finally snapped. "Why won't you bloody well do something about it?"

"Because I can't!" she shouted at him, her eyes wild and far more terrified than he'd ever seen, even the night when she'd broken Mrs. Potter's arm, even the night when she knew she was pregnant and they'd rowed like the world depended on it. "I can't, Charlie – I just – I can't even explain."

"Elsie, I need to know –"

"Charlie, I'm not going to give you a reason to ask for a divorce," Elsie whispered. "I can't tell you – I won't –"

"I won't be asking for any such thing as a divorce, you idiot woman," he growled. "For god's bloody sake, just tell me why you won't do as you're told!"

"I'm not from good people, Charlie," she whimpered. "My da was on the bottle all the time, and my mam…" She looked away from him, stricken, frightened. He hated seeing the pain and suffering on her face, wished he could take it away. "I married Joe and he started drinking when we lost our third bairn. It's my fault, you see… I drive people to do stupid things, don't I? Always have."

"Elsie, that's not true…"

"They cut me mam open to deliver me," Elsie said very quietly. "The cord was round my neck and I didn't breathe for a couple of minutes. She was always telling me that I were blue as the mornin' sky when I was born. She also said it was my fault that Becky is the way she is; that if I'd been born natural, Becky would have been born just fine, but I was a witch, an abomination…" She pulled away from him and mumbled, "She had a pain syrup the doctor gave her. She took it from the day I was born till the day she died. Bottle after bottle after bottle, Charlie. She was addicted to the cocaine and the opium and the alcohol in it, you see… and she overdosed."

He stared at her, stricken, the horrors of her youth washing over him like a wave of filth. "Elsie, you are not your mother – you could never be like her…"

She was still shaking, trembling, and her voice wavered like her hands as she spoke. "I thought… if I could have a bairn of my own, if I could be a mam… I could prove I weren't what she said. And I lost all of my children but our Gracie and now, if she dies… if she dies, it just means I am –"

"No," Charles said quietly, earnestly. "Elsie, no."

She looked up at him, her eyes so sad, so full of pain that it broke his heart just to look at her. "Charlie, I don't want to take the morphine because I'm scared I'll hurt our girls like she hurt me and Becky," she whispered. "The scars you asked about… that I said I got on the farm… they were almost all from mam. She'd take her medicine and if she wasn't asleep, she'd beat me with anything she could get her hands on – said I ruined her bloody life. If I'd've been a boy, it might've been worth all the pain she went through, but since I was just a stupid girl with nobbly knees and curly hair, I wasn't worth the time it took to feed me." She swallowed hard. "Why do you think I lied about my age and ran away to become a housemaid? At least there, I got food."

"And you married Joe because he could get you away from it all?" he asked gently, knowing he had to tread lightly.

"I did love him," she said defensively. "Not the same way I love you, though. Never like that. But we were good together, Charles… and I was content to be his wife if he could protect me from mam." Her smile was ever so very tired as she pulled her hand to her temple and smeared the blood as she touched it. "When she killed herself, I insisted we bring Becky to live on the farm. Joe nearly went off his head – I'd just lost our second bairn and he was tired of pretending we'd be all right. But he knew I was much happier knowing that she was safe, and we brought her to live at the farm with us." She frowned. "She hated Joe on sight. It took weeks for me to coax her out of her room – took me buying a bunch of ridiculous chickens, too." She reached over and touched his arm. "She loved you on sight, Charlie. I knew then I'd fallen in love with a good man, a kind man…"

"Elsie," he sighed, "I am so sorry that I ever gave you cause to doubt my moral worth as a human being –"

"My standards were very low," she mumbled. "Why else do you think I let that dreadful Potter woman do what she did? All for a bloody photograph…"

"What?" Charles said, blinking.

"She stole the only photograph I had of Joe, our last bairn, and my Becky," Elsie admitted very quietly, averting her gaze again. "And she used it to blackmail me into… well… having relations with her. Among other things. I was foolish enough to think that she would give it back if I just did what she asked, but she told Her Ladyship that she'd burned the photo almost immediately."

Charles frowned. "You're certain she did?"

"Burn it? God, the retched woman probably kissed it first, then set it alight," Elsie mumbled. "Devil's own whore, that one was…"

He got up and went to the wardrobe, looking for his envelope of important paperwork. One day when he'd been inadvertently courting a rather startled, terrified Miss Hughes, he'd gone to His Lordship's library and had taken out a volume of Macbeth for some light reading. Pressed between the pages of exquisite illustrations from the 17th century, he had found a rather more modern photograph. Never realizing its importance, he'd merely tucked it away in his papers and never quite put two and two together. Until now.

Charles found the photograph and brought it over to her. "I think I have something that belongs to you, my love," he said softly. "I found it in a book – I never imagined it was what you were so broken-hearted over."

She stared at the photograph in her hands, then up at him. Her face was blank, then she burst into hysterical tears that made him flinch. "Elsie, love, darling –"

"Do you know how much I love you?" she sobbed brokenly. "Do you have any idea, Charles?"

"I only know how much I love you," he said very quietly, a knot growing in the pit of his stomach at the thought that she might be so upset as to leave him…

"Take that and magnify it to a power of ten," Elsie sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her bloodied hand, leaving trails of blood in its wake. "My god, how – no, I don't know why you kept it –"

"Because I thought it was important to you," he said gently. "You've always been so beautiful, Elsie, and I didn't know that it was that picture that had you so very upset. I'm sorry – if I'd have known, I would have given it back immediately. We're very lucky it didn't go up in the fire."

Elsie frowned, biting her lip as she ran her fingertip around the edge of her face in the photograph. "Where has that little girl gone?" she asked, sighing softly. "I wasn't very happy. Ever. Not until I came here and met you and your Fiona, Charlie. You've always been too good to me and I never understood it till now. It wasn't about my past or who I was… it was always about who you saw me to be, wasn't it?"

He leaned in and kissed her gently upon the lips. "My beautiful, strong Elsie," he whispered. "I fell in love with your heart, your soul… tarnish, dings, and the whole lot." He paused. "It hurts me to see you in so much pain – especially when I know that the morphine will help. You'll likely be in pain the rest of your life, darling, and the last thing I want is for you to feel like you have to be."

"The last thing I want is to hurt our girls," Elsie said. "I'm too much like my mam in temperament – I'm not going to spend my entire life worrying."

"Will you at least take an aspirin? Your poor head has got to be splitting," he sighed. "And me with only fifteen minutes before I have to leave to go pick up our Fiona at the station –"

Elsie blinked up at him. "What?"

"It was meant to be a surprise," he sighed. "I was to go into the village on an errand and come home with some ribbons for the baby's new dress and Fiona on my arm."

"Oh, and stupid me, I've gone and gotten myself laid up for the night," Elsie sighed, pouting a little. "I'm sorry I ruined your surprise, love –"

"She's going to be very angry and scared when I tell her that you took a tumble today of all days," Charles warned her. "She'll want to know why you're refusing the medicine, same as I did." He paused, taking in his wife's fragile state, then said very quietly, "I won't force you to take it, but I need you to consider the idea of taking it once in a while. Not enough to cause problems, but enough to take the edge off."

Fraught between agony and indecision, Elsie finally whispered, "I am not, nor could I ever be, like my mam. But I cannot go on living if it will be like this the rest of my life, Charlie. I don't know what I'm supposed to do – I don't know." She looked up at him and breathed, "Will you control it, then, if I agree to take it? Lock it away in the silver cupboard since you're the only one with a key, and mete it out for me so I never take too much?"

He could see the utter terror in her eyes, hear it in the question; his strong, capable dearest heart, was so weak, so truly shaken to the core that she was asking him to help her commit the ultimate (in her eyes) sacrifice. "Of course, Elsie," he whispered. "Of course, my love."

"Then, yes," she said very quietly. "I'll take the morphine."

* * *

Fiona stood awkwardly on the platform, biting her lip as she clutched her small suitcase with both hands and her valise dangled from her wrist. She was sure she'd told her father that she was coming home today – and on the one-fifteen train from York. _Where was he?_

She'd been waiting nearly half an hour since getting off the train and she finally decided that maybe he wasn't coming. He'd probably forgotten or got distracted or something…

And, despite all the progress they'd made, despite everything, she began to wonder if it had all been a show put on for her benefit, to get her to stop asking questions. To get her to think she wasn't second best when clearly –

She heard footsteps and he called, "Fiona!" Her father rushed up to her and scooped her into a fierce embrace. "I am so very sorry I'm late, my darling girl – I had to make sure your mum was put to bed and that she had her medication before I left. My hands were shaking; it was difficult to give her the injection."

"Injection? Oh god, what happened, dad?" Fiona asked anxiously. "Is mum all right?"

"Calm down," he said softly, gently. "Your mum took a tumble and hit her head, but she's all right," he said, trying to assure her. The words had the exact opposite effect, though, and she started to cry. "No, no, sweetheart, she's fine – she's fine," he insisted. "Come on, let's walk home together, my darling girl. Your mum's waiting for us."

He took her baggage and carried it easily, offering her his arm to hold as they left the depot. He encouraged her to talk about her time in York as they walked back to the big house, and promised that Auntie Beryl was making treacle custard and shortbread biscuits for Fiona's first night home. She was too busy being scared that something dreadful had happened to her mum to really care.

As soon as they were in the servants' entrance, Fiona grabbed her valise from her father's hands and tore off toward the stairs, leaving him standing there in the corridor with a suitcase in hand, looking bewildered. She ran up to the Lavender Suite without thinking, without registering that she was running home to her mum until the doors were open and she was flying into her parents' room and into her mother's arms.

"Mum, I missed you so much," Fiona sobbed brokenly. "I love you – I missed you – daddy said you fell and hurt yourself –"

"I'm fine," Elsie said with a smile. "I fell and knocked some sense into my head is all, love," she promised. "You're really so upset over that?"

"I am," Fiona confirmed, sniffling miserably. "I was so scared something bad would happen when I wasn't here and I wanted you to be okay and – and –"

"Shh, my darling girl," Elsie whispered, pulling her down onto the bed with her. "I'm feeling no pain at the moment – your da was wonderful and gave me a shot of morphine before he left. He was late because he wanted to make sure I was comfortable when he went to get you." She paused, then said, "Please tell me you got your certificate – I couldn't bear knowing you were away for so long and didn't…"

"Of course I got it – I couldn't disappoint you and daddy and Lady Cora so much as all that," Fiona said with a sad frown on her lips. "I don't want to live in the village, mum. I want to stay here."

"But you'll get a little house all to yourself," Elsie pointed out gently.

"I don't want a little house to myself," Fiona said. "I want to stay here with you and dad and Gracie – this is my home, mum." She was struggling not to feel betrayed, and was failing miserably.

"Oh, my sweet, darling girl," Elsie whispered. "Do you know there's only one thing in my life I truly regret? Only one. And that is that you aren't my own flesh and blood, Fiona Carson. But I love you as much as if you were my own little girl – and I want what's best for you. You've gone to so much effort to get your certification and you're ready to teach. I am so very, very proud of you, Fiona." She reached up and tucked the stray curly lock of hair that had escaped Fiona's up-do behind her ear. "But you're almost to turn seventeen now – when I was that age, I was married and expecting my first wee'un." She smiled sadly. "But you're so much better, so much more, than I ever could have been. You take your dreams and you run with them, Fiona – you run so hard and so fast and don't you ever let anyone tell you that you're wrong for wanting to be more, be better. Do you understand me?"

Fiona stopped, listened, heard words both too hard and too soft for their own good. She knew with a sense of painful duty that she had to move into the teacher's house, but she didn't want to leave her family. It hurt too much: she'd already been away so long… "I understand, mum," she whispered.

"And we're really not that far away from the village, my darling," Elsie whispered. "You can come home whenever you like."

"But you'll forget me if I'm not here," Fiona sighed. "You've got Gracie and the family and –"

"I will never forget you as long as I live," Elsie promised very firmly. "You're my little girl, Fiona Carson, and never you forget it."

Fiona mumbled, "Even if Gracie takes my place in your bed?"

"She'll never take your place, my darling girl," Elsie promised very softly. "How could she?"

Fiona tucked her face into her mother's shoulder and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. She felt safe and loved in Elsie's arms, and had never had reason to wonder what things would have been like had she never loved her in the first place.

Her rest was dreamless, a small smile of contentment on her lips as she rested.

END PART TWENTY-EIGHT


	29. Chapter 29

Twenty-nine:  
Facts of Life

 _October 1901_

"If you don't have a talk with her, I will," Charles snarled. "She cannot just –"

"No, believe me, you're right," Elsie agreed with a heavy sigh. She held Gracie's hands as she lifted her little chubby legs and tried to take steps across the floor: it was the baby's favorite game and she had a captive audience in her mam's sitting room as her dad railed on and on. "She's also seventeen, Charles, for all the good it will do to talk to her about accepting a kiss on the cheek in public from the baker's boy."

"When I was seventeen –"

"When I was seventeen, I was married with a bairn on the way," Elsie said, "so maybe I'm not the best person to lecture our girl on propriety."

"You were perfectly proper as a married woman –"

"Aye, but I'd never have dreamed of kissing Joe in front of people," she reminded him, aghast. "I ought to put her over my knee but she's an adult, earning a regular salary same as us now."

"She needs to behave like an adult, then!" he huffed.

Elsie's lips twitched in amusement. "Oh, like we were behaving like adults this morning, love?"

He looked shocked. "Mrs. Carson, how dare you insinuate such things in front of the baby!"

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. Gracie heard her mum's snorted giggle and started giggling herself, chomping her jaws together, her teeth clicking. "Isn't daddy a funny man?" Elsie asked the baby with a wide smile. "Yes, he is – daddy is a funny man, lovey."

"Don't encourage her," he scolded with a sigh. "Two daughters – how ever am I going to survive this?"

"Charles," Elsie said, rolling her eyes, "don't be so melodramatic. Fiona will be good once we set her straight about what is and isn't allowed in public – especially as a school teacher who is meant to be respectable and above reproach – and we've got an awfully long time yet before our Gracie even thinks about young men. Right now, I think she'll be good to get on her feet and do some toddling around, my love."

He huffed and sank down into his chair. "I just wish that things were simpler – or that Fiona and Gracie were closer to the same age…"

Elsie swallowed hard, shoving her grief back down into its little hole where it belonged. "Oh, I wish that, too, but she's been such a help with Gracie that I loathe to wish it too hard," she murmured. "I can't imagine what it would have been like with two young children at once. It helps she's older, that we can reason with her like an adult."

"Yes, well… how exactly are we to reason with her when we cannot just take the time to go into the village and accost her for a conversation?" he challenged.

Elsie rolled her eyes. "I am taking the governess's cart into the village this afternoon to collect the boxes of new shoes for the young ladies upstairs, as well as the repaired ones for the downstairs," she reminded him. "I will take our girl aside when I've finished the errand and we'll have a conversation."

He hesitated, then mumbled, "Don't be too hard on her –"

"Oh for pity's sake! You're the one that was going in, guns blazing not five minutes ago," Elsie huffed in annoyance. "I will deal with it if you can handle watching Gracie for a couple of hours."

"I think I can accomplish that," Charles said, scowling.

Gracie lifted her little feet off the ground and swung from her mother's hands, giggling. Elsie bit back her pain, knowing it would do the baby no good to see her upset. She adored her little girl, but the poor wee'un had the unfortunate habit of becoming agitated whenever her mum was upset or in pain; so, Elsie hid it to keep the peace. Gracie certainly had her father's lungs.

Charles came over and gently rested his hand against the small of her back, steadying her, offering her strength and comfort. "I love you," he said very softly.

She turned her head and smiled at him. "I love you, too," she agreed. Anything else she might have said was silenced by his sweet, gentle kiss. "Charles, not in front of the bairn," she whispered, even as Gracie watched them and tittered happily as she kicked her feet and tried to get her bearings to take her first steps alone.

"It makes her happy when I kiss you," he teased, doing it again. This time, she threw caution to the wind and responded in kind, offering him a promise for later in the evening.

* * *

Elsie sat down at the tiny table and sighed. The teacher's house was tiny and the furniture was not so very grand – neither were Fiona's linens – but her tea set was still the fine set that she'd been given by her mam as a little girl. "I suppose you know why I'm here," she said as she reached for the teapot to pour them both a cuppa.

"Actually, I don't," Fiona said. "Not that I'm not pleased to see you, but –"

"The baker's boy kissed you in public and your father is going ballistic," Elsie said.

All the color drained from her daughter's face and she went grey in a hurry. "I couldn't stop him," she whispered. "He kissed me and started telling people that we're to be married and I – I told him NO, but he won't listen."

"Married?" Elsie exclaimed, her voice raised to a fever pitch. " _Excuse me_? Where on earth would he have gotten a bloody idea like that? Did you tell him –"

Fiona shook her head sharply. "No, mum – no, I never…"

"You've not even been walking out with him – he's not talked to your father… OH! I am going to show that boy a piece of my mind and a bit of my temper!" Elsie raged. Her hands were shaking as she set down the teapot and snapped, "And as for you – no man is to touch you. Do you hear me? You are a respectable woman, and if a man or a boy ever touches you, you are immediately to bring your knee up between their legs as hard as you can, and you RUN."

"Mum, I –"

"NO," Elsie snapped. "Your father and I cannot protect you now, with you being so far from the big house. I need you to listen to me, Fiona. You cannae allow men to take advantage of you in any way, shape, or form. Not if you want to survive in this world."

Fiona swallowed hard, near tears. "But what if I want to get married and have children someday?" she asked.

"Then your young man will do the respectable thing and come seek permission from your father," Elsie growled. "I am going to give Ian Mater a piece of my mind and if he persists in this behavior, Niall is going to lose his contract for the big house parties."

"Mum, I don't think it's worth the embarrassment –"

Elsie studied her for a long moment. "I don't care," she said, "and neither does your father. He cannae be seen to be taking advantage and not be punished for it."

Fiona frowned. "Mum, I –"

"You are kind and you don't want to see anyone get hurt," Elsie said with a sigh. "I know. But if he's seen to take advantage and nothing is said, others will do the same. And a simple kiss can turn into far worse –"

"But you and daddy kiss each other all the time when no one is watching," Fiona protested.

Elsie frowned; she really didn't want to have this discussion on top of the other one. "Because your father and I are married," she said, "and we care very deeply for one another. Kissing can be many things, Fiona – sometimes, your father and I kiss just to reassure each other that we're still there, and we still love each other very much. Other times… it's more… it's a prelude to wanting to engage in, well, intimacies." Her cheeks flushed. "Men who would kiss you like the baker's boy did are wanting to lure you into intimacies that they do not deserve. As a woman, your virtue is all you have – once you marry, your money becomes your husband's, your body becomes your husband's property, anything that is yours is then his. He deserves you to be pure when you come to him."

"You were married before you married my dad," Fiona pointed out.

Elsie sighed and looked down at her hands. "I am ashamed to admit that because I was not virtuous – and I was broken and scared – I went to your father's bed before we were wed. But he did the honorable thing and offered me his hand immediately."

"But you were… virtuous before you married your first husband?" Fiona asked, eyes worried.

"I was," Elsie said quietly. "And I thought I loved him, but it wasn't enough." She took a deep, shaky breath. "When you love someone, the marriage bed can be a wonderful thing – your dad and I are very happy together in that regard. But Joe and I were not… well-suited, I think. He did a lot of taking and not very much giving. But I had babes a-plenty to show for his efforts. And that's what you must be careful of – if kisses lead to more… the next thing I know, I'll be a grandmum and you'll be our on your ear, trying to take care of an illegitimate baby!"

Fiona blinked and swallowed hard. "I – I –"

"When I'm calmer," Elsie said, "I will tell you what you need to know about making love – but right now, I want to wring Ian Mater's neck with my bare hands." She looked around the small kitchen and frowned. "And then I'll make you some curtains."

* * *

The bell pealed as Elsie opened the door to the bakery. A scent of fresh pastries, bread, and cakes assaulted her, made her nauseated when coupled with her seeing blood red. And the object of her derision and hatred was standing on the other side of the counter, loading croissants into the display.

"Mrs. Carson, I'll be right with you," Ian said with a smile, not looking up to see the fury on her face. If he had, he might have flinched.

When he did finally look up, he paled.

"You keep your hands – and your lips – off of my daughter," Elsie spat. "You have no understanding with her, nor do you have one with my husband regarding marriage, walking out, or anything else." Her gloved fingers curled into fists. "She is a child; you are twenty and seven. Keep away from her or else."

He suddenly looked amused. "Or else what, Mrs. Carson? What do you think you could do if I disobey your high and mighty edict?"

Elsie raised an eyebrow. "I'm a farmer's daughter, Mr. Mater," she said, her voice cold as ice and dripping with malicious intent. "I've castrated more than a few animals in my time."

The smile vanished from his lips. "And if I wished to court and marry her?"

"She doesn't want you, and Mr. Carson and I are not so stupid as you think that we would allow you to lay another finger on her after what you did to Samantha this spring," Elsie hissed. "Oh, did you think I didn't know it was you who took her out behind the storage shed and promised her the sun, moon, and stars, then left her flat when she took with babe?" The sarcasm dripped from her lips scathingly. "If you touch my daughter ever again, I will castrate you with my sewing shears and stitch you up with my darning needle. Do you ken? Do you ken that if you touch anyone from the big house again, I will rescind your father's contracts and force him out of business?"

Ian gulped, his face grey and sickly. "Yes, ma'am," he said very quietly.

"And tell your father that we will not need the cake this weekend – Mrs. Patmore is more than pleased to make it herself," Elsie hissed.

She turned on her heel and stormed out the door, back the way she came.

* * *

"I don't think we'll have to worry about the baker's boy again," Elsie said as she rubbed lotion into her hands. Charles raised an eyebrow over the edge of his book. "I might have put the fear of god into him."

"Elsie –"

"He wouldn't lay a finger on me, and if he did, I would lay him flat," she reminded him. "No, I merely chewed off his ear in a figurative way."

He sighed. "It would have meant more coming from me –"

"Oh, no, dear," she said with a small smile. "I don't think it would have had quite the same impact." She shed her dressing gown and climbed into bed with him, chuckling when he immediately laid his book aside to take her into his arms and kiss her.

"I missed you," he said softly. "How is our girl getting on by herself?"

Elsie sighed. "Her house is a little hovel," she admitted. "It's ghastly. I'm going to make her some curtains and I'll see if Her Ladyship will let me take some of the worn linens over – she's not even got a proper tablecloth."

Charles frowned. "God forbid."

"I think the last teacher took everything with her that wasn't bolted down or too heavy to move," Elsie admitted. "Poor Fiona is struggling; she looks so tired and sad. I just want her to smile again."

"Right now, I'm more worried about making you smile," he replied gently.

She rolled her eyes. "You know, I was about to tell her about what happens between a man and a woman who love one another very much – and I was getting so flustered and very keenly felt that I needed you right then… it was so mortifying."

He chuckled and kissed her neck, then her shoulder, gently cupping her breast with one hand. "Oh really?" Charles said.

"It was all this talk of intimacy today," she scoffed, moaning as her eyes rolled back when his hand wandered lower, lifting the hem of her nightdress.

"I'll show you intimacy," he promised.

END PART TWENTY-NINE


	30. Chapter 30

Thirty:  
The Hard Questions

Charles was counting the last of the wine delivery when his wife stormed into his pantry. He felt immediately like a caged animal had just been let loose and he knew his best course of option was to roll over and play dead. As soon as possible. If not sooner.

It was too late, however, and she slammed the door shut, locking the deadbolts with a fury that left him stunned – too stunned to form an adequate question.

"When were you going to bother to tell me that you threatened Fiona with marriage if she didn't choose her studies or a job in the kitchens?" Elsie's voice was cold, ice cold, and filled with a venom that he could barely stand to hear. "And to the baker's boy, nonetheless? How bloody _could_ you? You stupid, stupid _man_." The last word was filled with such derision, such utter hatred that he knew exactly why he hadn't mentioned that foolish transgression of his to her.

"Excuse me, but I –"

She plucked the invoice out of his hands and slammed it down onto the desk. "No," she snapped, "you don't have the right to speak as though you were doing something good for her. You have no idea, no concept, of what it means to belong to someone else, do you? You have no clue in that bulbous head what you've done, do you? None at all."

He glared at her; how dare she insinuate that he didn't know what was best for his child! It was by the grace of god, and an accident of heart, at all that she could call Fiona hers as well. If anyone should be indignant about the affair, it should be him! "I do not appreciate being made to look like a fool in my own domain," he growled.

One of the muscles below her eye twitched. He knew he'd gone too far, but he could not allow her to think that she had the right to dictate to him –

He wasn't anticipating her attack, and he didn't feel the sting of her slap until after it had already landed and she had retreated, holding her wrist gingerly with her other hand.

He reached up and touched his flaming cheek, shocked that she had not only found it in her heart to strike him, but had executed it to such perfect effect. "Mrs. Carson!" he gasped.

"You just… you just shut up," she hissed. "Shut up before I lose my temper again. You have no right to be self-righteous and you have no right at all to tell your daughter that you'll all but sell her into a sham of a marriage just because she won't make a decision that you're forcing upon her. She was a child, Charles. _A CHILD_. She still bloody well is, but she's been forced into being an adult and she will resent you forever for it." She winced and cradled her hand. "That bloody well hurt, by the way."

"My face still aches," he mumbled. "And I wouldn't have gone through with –"

"Shut up," she repeated. "Shut up, shut up, shut your mouth." He fell silent, instinctively realizing it would do no good to further provoke her. When she got in a snit, it was best to let her explode and relax again. He was very bad about pushing her to the limit, but they always came back from the edge of the abyss.

"I would have given anything in the world to have someone to give a damn about me and my welfare when I was her age," Elsie finally said. "How dare you take that small comfort away from your daughter, Charles? How could you forget that you're her father first and foremost, not her jailer? How could you hate your own flesh and blood so much that you'd do something so horrible to hurt her?"

"I don't hate her," he said, lifting his hands in surrender. "I love her – I don't deserve her, but I love her. I never meant to actually go through with it; I just thought if she had something unpalatable to pit against the other two options, she might make a decision and –"

Elsie stomped her foot, her lips pursing together into a furiously drawn slash of a line. "You are beyond stupid, Charles Carson!" she shouted. "I have no clue why I married you! You haven't got a brain in your head – did you ever think that your daughter would see even the implication that you would sell her off into marriage as a reflection of your rejection? _YOU STUPID, STUPID_ ** _FOOL_**."

"I never thought –"

"You _don't_ think," she hissed. "You never think. You come at me with your rank and privilege and 'I'm a man and the world is so easy for me because I make more money and I can do whatever I want within the law of god and man' and you don't bloody well stop and think before you open your stupid mouth, Charles! You never stop and think that maybe the reason I said yes to marrying you was because I was scared to be alone – because at least when you're married, you have some protection. A woman's world is so much different than a man's – you have no _concept_ of what we have to deal with. None at all." She took a deep, shaky breath. "And for you to be so heavy-handed with Fiona… you've become the worst kind of father."

"Elsie, I –"

She shook her head and raised her hand, wincing. "I'm terrified of the future now, Charles," Elsie whispered. "What will you do to our Gracie? Will you do her the same harm as you've done Fiona? I thought – I thought I loved you, but I don't know you at all, do I?"

"Elsie, I – I would never –"

"I know you wouldn't do it intentionally," she mumbled, looking away from him. "But it's the unintended slights that do the most damage." Elsie took a deep breath, held it, released it. "You know, I almost killed myself after our Gracie was born. I was in so much pain and there was no way out. I knew I was wrong – you couldn't possibly love me or our girl enough to put up with it, to put up with me… and I went to such a dark place I didn't want to come back. But our girl was there and she needed me. She needed her mammy, Charlie… and that was the only reason I didn't do it. Because she needed me and I loved you so much… so much I couldn't fathom hurting you like that again. No one should live through that twice. I should have stayed there, in Scotland – I ruin everything I touch. I should have –"

He hesitated a moment, watching her devolve, break, crumble, and his heart broke; he had caused this, all of it, through his thoughtlessness, his carelessness… and he had no idea how to fix it.

"Elsie," he whispered, "I'm sorry. I am so, so very sorry –"

"I'm not the one you should apologize to," she said. "I'm just your wife."

She could never just be his wife; nor could she just be his. She was Elsie: she was somehow bigger than life and yet, so much smaller. And he loved all of her with such desperation that it made him sick at heart.

He held his arms open and pulled her close, holding her gently, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Never just my anything," Charles breathed. "You are my _everything_ , Elsie."

* * *

"Thank you, Miss Carson," Anna Smith chirped happily as Fiona laid out a serving of steak and kidney pie and lima beans before her. It was a simple meal, but hearty, and Fiona was glad she'd made enough for her company as well as herself.

She had been tutoring Anna in her maths since the beginning of school, and the eleven year old girl with her huge blue eyes and flaxen hair was beginning to understand a bit better what was going on. Enough so that Fiona considered it a success. And her father came by to collect her after the special lessons, after they shared a small meal usually – even if it was just tea and scones. She found herself looking forward to the evenings she shared with the Smiths, however inappropriate that might seem to anyone on the outside looking in.

"You're very welcome, Anna," Fiona murmured. She laid out a second serving for Mr. Smith and fought back a blush as his fingertips gently grazed her hand. "Would you like tea or ale, Mr. Smith?" she inquired softly, almost shyly, not quite looking at him.

"Tea, if you please," Arthur Smith said cheerfully. "The brewery paid me for work on some of the gentlemen's boots in pints earlier – I was afraid I'd be rolling down the lane."

Anna giggled. "Papa, you don't roll," she said.

"One more pint of ale and I would have lost my footing," he teased, chucking her on the chin. "Thank you again, Miss Carson, for seeing my Anna well – and for making us such a lovely dinner."

Fiona brought the drinks to the table, then sat down herself; she knew she should be ashamed of her house, of her meager things, but she found that she didn't really care that much. The curtains her mother had made were lovely, but they were just things. But the way her stomach fluttered when Mr. Smith looked at her made all of her shame over her home go flying right away.

She had underseasoned the pie. She winced and reached for the salt and pepper; but her guests didn't seem to notice the difference. She knew that the cobbler employed a maid (who helped Anna dress), a cook, and a valet, but surely he understood the value of a well-cooked meal just as well as anyone else, and she was ashamed of herself more than anything. She wanted to impress him – why, she wasn't quite sure, but she knew that it was quite important, especially with the rumors circulating in the village about his wanting to walk out with the Widow Jones – to keep Anna, the dear thing, in the school and keep the lessons going.

"This is delicious, Miss Carson," Anna said with a sweet smile, reaching over to hold and squeeze her teacher's hand reassuringly. "Mrs. Greer doesn't make her meat pies any better than this."

"Thank you, Anna," Fiona said softly. "I spent most of my childhood in the kitchens at the Abbey – or in the housekeeper's parlor with my mum."

"What's it like at the Abbey?" Anna inquired. "I bet it's grand –"

Fiona sighed a little, trying not to let her homesickness show. She was only a couple of miles away from home and her family, but it might as well have been a million. She missed the finery, the manners, the grandeur of everything where she had grown up – and now that she was on her own, she felt their absence keenly. For her part, mum had done her best to make sure she knew how to keep house and Auntie Beryl had taught her how to cook in ways that mum could never have. But there was still so much missing from her life.

"I didn't mean to make you cry!" Anna yelped in alarm.

"No, it's not you," Fiona whimpered, reaching for a napkin to wipe her eyes. "I just – I miss my family very much and… and I hate not being with them. I hate it here," she confessed miserably. "I hate this house, I hate not being there for my sister and my mum and dad…"

"Why don't you go back to the big house, then?" Anna asked.

"Lady Grantham won't allow it," Fiona said, trying to stop crying. She felt very small and silly all of a sudden, as if she were not nearly enough for the person she was meant to be. She felt very young. That didn't help anything. Young, scared, lonely –

"Miss Carson," Mr. Smith said gently, "we take our family for granted until we don't have them anymore. I am certain that they miss you as much as you miss them."

"I'm being silly," Fiona mumbled. "It's only two miles."

"Two miles is very far," Anna spoke up again. "I shouldn't like to walk that far."

There was a knock on the front door and Fiona got up, startled, heading toward it with alacrity. Once it was opened, she stood there, staring into the twilight. "Daddy, what are you doing here – shouldn't you be serving?"

"I've left it to the underbutler for this evening," he said with a frown. "May I come in or –"

"Yes, of course, but I've not got much to serve you for dinner – Mr. Smith and Anna have already tucked into their shares and there's just mine left…"

There was a long, quiet pause, then her father said, "You're entertaining a gentleman without a chaperone?"

She sighed and frowned. "I don't expect you to approve and you've already jumped to the wrong conclusions –"

"You are seventeen years old," he said angrily. "And you are entertaining an eligible gentleman in your dining room without a proper –"

Fiona pursed her lips together and huffed irritably. "His daughter is there. There is nothing untoward going on. Besides, Mr. Smith wouldn't give me the time of day, let alone want to walk out with me, unless I were helping his daughter with her lessons. So if you please would be reasonable, daddy – I am not a child anymore. You cannot push me and pull me and pretend that you care when it suits you to."

Mr. Smith came up behind them and said, "Miss Carson, I'm afraid that Anna and I need to go. I should not like to be the reason for you falling out with your father."

"You are not the reason," Fiona denied quietly.

Her father merely made an almost inaudible grunting noise in response to Mr. Smith.

"Thank you for dinner, Miss Carson," Anna said with a small smile. "I will see you in class tomorrow."

"Yes, of course, Anna," Fiona said quietly. "Thank you for coming – you did very well today with your lessons."

"Anna, will you go wait for me by the gate?" Mr. Smith said. When the girl was gone, he turned to Fiona's father and said, "Mr. Carson, you may not realize that your voice carries and that my daughter and I heard everything that you said very clearly. I am afraid that I've been remiss in not coming to the Abbey to speak with you about spending time in your daughter's company, but I did not see the harm in staying when invited with the pleasure of the company of two lovely young ladies. That being said, Mr. Carson… I would be completely remiss if I did not seek your permission to court your daughter's hand – I promise to do nothing untoward, and I shall keep Anna with us at all times."

Fiona was light-headed and giddy with sudden emotion rushing to her head. "What?" she stammered. "But I thought you were walking out with Madge Jones –"

"She would like the world to think that I am walking out with her," Mr. Smith said with a roll of the eyes. "But she is not who I would care to spoil with my affections." He looked very pointedly at Fiona, who blushed and bit her lip.

Her father was just glowering at Mr. Smith, though her suitor paid him no heed at all. "Mr. Smith, we will discuss this matter later," he finally said. "You may come to see me at the Abbey and present yourself to my wife. She is far more protective of Fiona than I am; she will be the one whose approval will matter."

Fiona looked back up at Mr. Smith and smiled hesitantly. "Mum likes you," she said softly.

"She won't like him as a suitor," her father warned curtly. "Good day, Mr. Smith."

And with that, the cobbler was sent on his way. Fiona felt very small next to her father and his indomitable wrath, but a tiny thrill of hope surged in her heart. There was a man – a real man, not a boy, not some skeevy man who just wanted her for the sake of having her – who was actively seeking her approval… and it helped that she had already spent many evenings with a pot of cold tea, daydreaming about what it would be like to have him for her own.

Her father grumbled and followed her to the dining room table where the remnants of dinner were still laid out. "I suppose, if your mother approves, you'll be walking out with Mr. Smith," he muttered disapprovingly. "You will want to speak to her about… certain things. Things you ought not do when in the company of your gentleman, to give him the wrong ideas –"

"There are no wrong ideas when you care for someone, daddy –"

He glared at her. "You are a silly little girl, Fiona, and you don't know what you're talking about," he snapped. "It is my duty as your father to protect you – which, clearly, I have failed in doing if you're allowing yourself to be kissed by the Mater lad and now you're entertaining Mr. Smith in your dining room of all places! Anyone could have looked in the windows and seen –"

"And what if they did?" she challenged.

"Do you want to be on a path to ruin?" he shouted. "No daughter of mine is going to be tainted by scandal!"

"Well, maybe I don't want to be your daughter anymore," she shot back furiously. "You only claim me when it suits your purposes – so why claim me at all?" She was near tears, flushed and queasy from the overwhelming, conflicting emotions. "Why can't you just be happy that I've caught the eye of such a good, kind man? He is a good father, a good businessman –"

"And you would be the wife of a tradesman," he said with derision.

"There is more honor in being an honest tradesman than in groveling for scraps as a butler," she hissed.

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Her father looked as though he'd been struck; he drew himself up to his full height and left without a word.

It was an old fight that was never resolved, and though she felt guilty for spurring it on, she could not find it in her heart to forgive him the numerous slights he'd inflicted against her over the years.

She cleaned up the kitchen, did the dishes, and went to bed. Fiona cried herself to sleep not for the first time.

END PART THIRTY


End file.
